


End of The Line

by b3tty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War Fix-It, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b3tty/pseuds/b3tty
Summary: 7 months after Washington, Steve Rogers finds out that the Winter Soldier has been hanging out a bit too close to home.A story about two best friends finding out they need each other far more than they ever thought. Featuring the rest of the Avengers family and a familiar villain.(Canon up to CA:WS)*NOW COMPLETE*
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 62
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm sorry if anything in this fic makes you too sad. I promise I'll include some fluff at some point to make up for everything I put Steve through. Happy reading!

Steve dreams of the water. He dreams of hitting the bottom, eyes open, and watching a figure coming down for him. When the shadow reaches him, its Bucky, but he's in his Sergeant’s uniform and his hair is short and he's clean shaven and he's laughing. The sound is distorted but it is unmistakeable. Bucky reaches out his hand but when Steve grabs it, it is metal, and it's no longer Bucky he's looking at, it's The Winter Soldier. He opens his mouth and screams, but the only sound he hears is the scream of Bucky when he fell from the train, except louder and clearer and unending. 

He wakes up, soaked in cold sweat, his heart racing. Steve hasn't been sleeping properly since Washington. It was like that the first time he lost Bucky back in the war, but at least he didn’t have hope then. It is the hope that is killing him. He’s coerced his friends into caring too (with SHIELD now obliterated, it’s not like they have a lot on their plates) and they’ve taken down a far few underground HYDRA bases in the last 7 months with no sign of Bucky except the files they’ve seized. They rally around him as much as they can, but once he’s alone there’s no escape from the guilt; if he had searched for him after the train, maybe HYDRA wouldn’t have weaponized him. Maybe he wouldn’t have been trained like a dog to kill. Maybe he would remember where his home was. 

The thoughts seep into Steve’s dreams and sleeping for a few hours a night has become a blessing. It’s taking a toll on him, to say the least. It hasn't escaped the attention of his friends either. 

Two weeks ago, Sam had gone to Steve's apartment only to find him sitting on the floor smoking his way through a packet of Lucky Strikes and watching the same videos they'd seized from a HYDRA base a few months ago as part of the Winter Soldier file. He didn't even notice Sam come in; too caught up in watching his best friend strapped to some kind of contraption designed for electroshock treatment. Natasha had begged Steve not to watch them, but he is the Captain after all. 

'Steve?' Sam had tried, trying not to cough from the smoke sitting in the room. Steve's hand had trembled, ash falling onto the floor beside him, 'You don't need to put yourself through this. At least not alone,' 

'He used to smoke these all the time.' Steve had replied, not taking his eyes off the video where a man with a thick Russian accent was holding Bucky's face between his hands and shouting what sounded like a series of commands, 'Never in the house though, he knew my asthma couldn't take it.' 

Sam had stepped outside then, called Natasha, who managed not to say 'I told you so' about the videos, but instead agreed to get Steve to move in to the Avengers tower. Tony had had a floor built - anticipating one of his friends needing a place to stay at some point - and it was decided that it was in Steve's best interest to not be left alone for more than 24 hours. Sam had hauled Steve up off the floor (NOT an easy task he would like it known) and managed to get him to the tower with little resistance. He insisted on taking the cigarettes. 

Most days Steve wakes up only to find either Natasha, Sam or Tony waiting around in his living room, trying to act like they aren't there to check up on him. It is not that he isn't grateful for the company, it's just that he knows they're always disappointed to see him awake too early, wearing fresh rings under his eyes from the night he's endured. He loves them, but he hates to be a disappointment. Again. 

This morning, however, the floor is empty. The silence is unnerving- Steve has gotten used to having people around to kick him into gear every morning. It's unlikely that anything bad has happened (there is usually a LOT more smashing if that is the case) but he feels too sick to eat and gets changed to head upstairs in search of his friends-come-carers. 

He is approaching Tony's workshop when he catches conversation and stops in his tracks. It is Nat and Tony, half whispering on the other side of the door. They still underestimate his abilities. The sick feeling in Steve's stomach rises; he can't take any more secrets. Not now. 

'You can't keep this silent for much longer,' Nat practically hisses, 'He'll find out, and when he does, he'll kill you.' 

Steve has a strong suspicion he is the 'he' in question. His jaw clenches. 

'There's no point in him knowing, he'll go and chase him halfway across the world. And I do not want to be responsible for the damage that another fight between the two of them will cause.' 

'Maybe. But I can't stand by and watch Steve destroy himself over this knowing that the Winter Soldier is alive.' Nat opens the door then. 'Steve.' 

He is shaking, unable to find the words to articulate the jumble of emotions in his head. Bucky is alive. He is alive and his friends have known where he is. They could've been out there helping him, keeping him safe. Steve could've been with him by now. He takes a short, sharp breath before walking into the room, determined not to hit anything. 

'Shit.' Tony says, putting down the spanner he has just picked up, 'Has anyone ever taught you that eavesdropping is rude?' 

'Where is he?' Steve directs the question at Nat, unable to meet Tony's eye. There is a cavernous silence. He asks the question again, this time forcing his gaze on Tony who almost visibly squirms. 

'You can't go after him Rogers,' Tony replies, 'It'll be Washington all over again. He isn't...' 

He trails off. 

'How do you know what he is and isn't?' A fierce loyalty rules his words. 

Tony takes a subconscious step backwards as Steve's fists clench. He glances at Nat for assistance and she gives him her best you-brought-this-on-yourself look. JARVIS had pulled up a face recognition match for the Winter Soldier a couple of months ago. It had turned out that the amnesiac assassin had got himself a fake identity and an apartment in Brooklyn. They’d agreed to leave him be, all too aware of how easily they could lose against him, especially without Steve. 

'Where is he?' Steve closes the gap across the room, looking about ready to hit something very, very hard. Tony can't mess with him, not when he looks like this. 

'He's in Brooklyn. Used a fake ID to get an apartment. He hasn't had contact with HYDRA since Washington but he's very far from the Bucky Barnes you knew.' Tony instantly regrets the tone he gave those last words as he sees Steve flinch. 

Brooklyn. Of course. Home. There’s a flutter of hope that maybe it is not a coincidence, maybe Bucky knows exactly where he’s chosen to live. Steve could almost laugh. Bucky has been blocks away at most for half a year, while Steve had flown across the world in search of him. How fitting. 

'We’ve been keeping tabs on him, for his own safety as well as ours.’ Nat interjects, keen to avoid any kind of civil war today. 

Steve is visibly hurting. Tony knows he should have told him, of course he should. But days had turned into weeks and he couldn't bring himself to give Steve hope when the man he was looking for no longer existed. Even when he sat through the HYDRA videos again, watching Steve crumble into a shell of himself to the sound of Bucky's body being filled with electricity over and over and over again, he hadn't told him. Even when Sam begged Tony to tell him as he finished yet another depressing movie marathon night with Steve getting through a box and a half of tissues, he hadn't told him. 

'I want to see him.' It's the smallest Steve has ever sounded, and that takes some doing. ‘We won’t know what he remembers unless we try and get through to him.’ 

His friends exchange a glance which he knows all too well. The ‘parent’ glance, he’s nicknamed it, because who else could look so exasperated and concerned at the same time? He feels overwhelmingly alone. 

‘I’m not sure we can save you from him again, Steve,’ Natasha’s voice is low and weighty. 

‘And we have no idea if he would save you a second time.’ Tony says, beginning to fiddle with some kind of contraption just to avoid looking at Steve. The guilt is obvious. ‘if HYDRA wanted him back they would’ve come and got him. He’s been wandering around New York for half a year, hardly difficult to spot either given he’s 25% metal.’ 

Tony pulls up a collection of photos and videos pulled from cameras across the city on one of the projection screens. In most of them, Bucky wears a hat to cover his face and a glove on the metal hand. His clothes in every photo are the same; a red hoodie which looks as though it is about to unravel at any moment, loose fitting jeans and boots. It catches Steve off guard, how small he looks without above-military grade armour on. The glimpses that the camera has caught of his face are unmistakeable. His hair is still long, but often tied back and he is clean shaven. He would look normal if it weren’t for the dark rings under his eyes; if Steve thought he was tired, it is clearly nothing compared to Bucky. 

‘Now if you don’t mind,’ Tony says, getting rid of the screen, ‘I have some work to do.’ 

It is difficult to say if Tony is more stubborn than Steve, but he wins this time. Steve swallows the urge to insist they go after Bucky, and stalks out of the room. He suspects Nat is following him, but does little to acknowledge her. She kept it from him as well, even after everything they went through last year. The thought guts him and the familiar loneliness creeps in. He makes it back to his floor, expecting himself to cry once he is alone. There is one thought that stops him; no one is as alone as Bucky right now. 

Steve can’t sit still. He tries to eat something but it tastes like ash on his tongue and the four walls remind him of Tony and his lies. He tries to read a book Sam lent him, but his thoughts are louder than the words on the page and he ends up going over the same section again and again. In the end, Steve runs. It is freezing out, but sunny, and the streets are fairly empty in January, so he runs. 

He avoids Brooklyn, despite his desire to stand on a street corner until he eventually catches sight of his best friend. He’s not quite stupid enough to go alone- not after the bullets he stomached last time. The fresh air and adrenalin soothe his thoughts, but after 2 hours the lack of sustenance catches up with him and he admits defeat. Steve isn’t used to being caught up with and he makes a mental note to force himself to eat breakfast tomorrow. He contemplates going back to the tower, but bile rises in his throat at the thought of facing his friends again. 

The walk to his own apartment is long and by the time he gets through the door it is mid-afternoon, the sun beginning to dip below the East river. Sam is in the kitchen, cooking something which smells incredible (though that could just be Steve’s empty stomach talking). Steve smiles out of sight at the thought of Sam Wilson cooking him dinner. He’s been a blessing in disguise since they met and Steve says a silent prayer that Sam wasn’t involved in this shitshow. 

‘Am I that predictable?’ Steve stands in the doorway, feigning a smile, not altogether surprised to see someone expecting him, 

‘A little.’ Sam smiles. He has cleaned the apartment and stocked the fridge, all too aware of Steve’s inability to put his own needs before his emotions. ‘This is a one off, don’t go expecting me to be your housewife.’ 

‘Did you know?’ 

There’s a moment of silence, but it is enough to give Steve the answer he is dreading. He half expects that the whole of the world knew that Bucky was living in the same precinct as him for the last 7 months. Steve stares at a spot on the floor, willing it to open up and swallow him so he doesn’t have to deal with the heart-wrenching anger and despair swelling in his stomach. 

‘I’m sorry Steve.’ Sam puts a wooden spoon down, ‘You know we would have told you if anything had happened to him.’ 

‘Would you?’ The blue of Steve’s eyes seem to freeze Sam to the spot, ‘or would you have just carried on like everything was fine?’ 

Sam shifts, meeting his gaze, taking the beating. 

‘How many times did we fly across the globe and risk our lives to try and find him? And all those times you knew my hope was for nothing?’ Steve is shouting now, his voice threatening to crack into a sob, ‘I thought I finally found a group of people I could put my faith in, that I could belong to again. But you had to screw that up, didn’t you? I thought maybe you wanted to find him too. For me. But I guess we don’t look out for each other like that.’ 

He turns his back on Sam, his shoulders shaking. He walks to his bedroom, shuts and locks the door, and cries. The sobs are big and ugly and selfish, but Steve lets himself cry. He cries for the trust he put in people he thought were worthy of it. He cries for every punch he’s thrown since Washington in the hopes it would bring him closer to having his best friend back. And he cries for Bucky; for every time he has needed him by his side since 1945.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to be pretty regular in uploading chapters every 3 days! It's going to be a long ride though...buckle up.

Steve is still stifling sobs into his hands when Sam knocks on the door an hour later. He thought he had left soon after the crying began, but maybe he should’ve known better seeing as he voluntarily hangs out with traumatised veterans every week. There’s the sound of a plate being placed on the floor. 

‘Food’s outside if you want some.’ Sam calls, but doesn’t step away. ‘I’m sorry Steve. We were just looking out for you.’ 

His footsteps fade back into the kitchen as Steve approaches the door. He knows he needs to eat. He also knows he needs Sam’s help, but decides it is sensible to focus on one thing at a time. The plate is actually a bowl of something which vaguely resembles chill con carne, which Steve eats in about thirty seconds flat. There’s a semblance of guilt floating around his head as he leaves the empty bowl on the side; Sam didn’t have to cook him dinner, or even come to check on him at all. 

Steve flops back on the bed, rubbing his eyes as though maybe he’ll see sense. Not that there is much sense to be seen. There is only one option, senseless or not. He feels for the cigarettes in his pocket and takes one out, lighting it with a match from the table beside the bed. The apartment is small, considering what he could’ve got, but he is usually there alone and he enjoys the cosiness. Smoke curls its way into the room, dancing a little in the setting sun. Steve doesn’t often take drags from them- just holds them between his fingers and lets the ash fall into a coffee mug every now and then. 

Closing his eyes, he lets the smell paint memories for him. The apartment Steve shared with Bucky after his Mom died was tiny; one room for the kitchen and bedroom, with a separate draughty bathroom. The wooden floor creaked even when you didn’t stand on it and the dining table lost its fourth leg on its way through the door. Bucky used to stand on the fire escape outside, the door cracked open with a magazine, and smoke as quickly as possible so the cold air didn’t get in. It wasn’t much use seeing as the window above the bed had a fairly deliberate crack in the pane, but Steve would never say that. He stubs the cigarette out in the mug. 

Steve was sick too many times to count, and it was always bad. He’d insist he was fine until someone found him sitting against a curb, unable to move from the pain. Bucky would sit by the bed all day, reading or drawing or telling stories about pretty girls he’d seen going to the movies. At night, he’d climb in the bed beside Steve. The smell of sweat and ladies' perfume swamped Steve and he grew used to falling asleep in it. The heat from his body made Steve smile, and even though he could hardly speak, he’d always try and thank him. 

‘Don’t be a jerk, Steve,’ Bucky had whispered back, once. There was a pause, and a flash of something Steve had never seen before crossed his eyes before he said, ‘Just hang on in there. Don’t make me live in a world without you in it.’ 

Steve opens his eyes to find tears threatening to fall again. He’s always had to be the one keeping it together, even in the months after Bucky fell from the train. It feels almost embarrassing to be acting like such a baby. The smoke is fading, and however much he wants to grab hold of it with his hands and never let it go, he knows it won’t fix the hole in his heart. He forces himself into the shower and gets into bed without another word to Sam. He’s probably gone anyway. The urge to sleep hits him like a ton of bricks and he drifts off, praying he doesn’t relive any of the day in his dreams. 

*** 

He has already started making a vat of coffee when he notices that Sam is asleep on the sofa the next morning and almost jumps out of his skin. Steve has a spare bedroom in the apartment, but he knows Sam was keeping an eye on him (which primarily involves making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid in the dead of night). 

‘Sam.’ He says, tapping a spoon noisily against the granite. He slept last night, but hardly restfully. He clears his throat obviously and that does it; Sam jerks his head up from under the blanket he’s stolen. ‘Nice job keeping an eye on me.’ 

‘I was only out for ten minutes I swear,’ Sam grins, overwhelmingly pleased that Steve isn’t giving him the silent treatment. He clambers his way out of the blanket and off the sofa, sheepishly rearranging the pillows. 

Steve makes the coffee for both of them and attempts to start breakfast. Clearly, though, Sam’s ‘grocery’ shopping was of limited quality; he settles for toast, it’s either that or the chilli from last night. 

‘I need your help.’ Steve starts. Sam snorts into his mug, raising his eyebrows, ‘What?’ 

‘I know you want to help him, and keep him safe and whatever,’ Steve stops chewing, knowing what is coming, ‘but I am not about to pop round that killing machine’s place for coffee.’ 

‘It won’t be like that; you don’t even have to come in.’ 

‘Oh good, so I’ll just wait outside and listen to you get maimed, sounds great,’ 

‘It’s been months, he’ll remember more.’ Steve says it to himself more than Sam. There has to be hope. If Bucky has managed to live in New York for 7 months without causing any major disturbance then something has to have changed. Sam is just a precaution. He can wait on the roof. ‘This is the last time I’ll ask anything of you, I promise.’ 

‘You’re an asshole.’ He gets up off the sofa and makes his own toast. It’s as good an agreement as Steve is going to get and he lets his shoulders get a little lighter for a second. His clothes smell of the smoke from last night and he feels abruptly ashamed for how indulgent he was. ‘And you stink.’ 

Steve laughs, but decides not to change. The smell is too familiar; too much of a comfort to forgo. He tells Sam to be ready in 30 minutes and promptly spends the half an hour skim reading the file on his bedside table, pretending he hasn’t already memorized it. He’s got a feeling he might need all the help he can get. 

*** 

‘Wait on the roof. I’ll let you know if things get out of hand.’ Steve pulls up two blocks away from the address Sam has given him for Bucky’s building. They’re lucky Sam’s memory is good enough to remember the details for Bucky’s alias. 

‘It’s raining!’ 

‘There’s an umbrella in the trunk.’ Sam looks at Steve incredulously, but he’s so clearly not joking. He’s hidden his trusted equipment under a large coat, but he takes the umbrella all the same and begins the walk, shooting one last unimpressed look back at Steve. 

He doesn’t notice. His heart rattles against his ribs; panic. Steve doesn’t know if he can handle this. He’s walked into buildings not expecting to walk away before, but it’s never been his heart on the line. And besides, he didn’t bring his shield. 

The walk is miserable. He is soaked by the time he reaches the building. He supposes he should be cold, but there’s a strange sort of adrenalin keeping him going. The apartment is on the other side of Brooklyn to where they lived together, but the block looks almost as old as him. There is a grocery store across the street Steve recognises from the security camera photos and the world seems to lurch a little when he pictures Bucky here, for all this time. 

The apartment is on the top floor and the carpets in the corridors are frayed and worn. There’s a smell of rotting leaves which permeates the building. He passes doors with split wood and taped up letterboxes and then he’s standing in front of it. His breathing stops as he sees the door ajar; not forced, but left open. He really wishes he’d brought a gun. 

Steve takes two steps into the apartment without making a sound. There is a kitchenette to his right and a table to his left. There is no sign of life on either; it is spotless. Through a doorway, into what must be the only other room, there is a mattress on the floor. A blanket is tucked neatly over the sides. The whole place smells of cleaning products. His heart sinks, it’s a wrong address. He makes his way into the room, willing there to be a sign of Bucky anywhere. A sofa is crammed into one corner, its material worn away from use. He wills himself to picture Bucky here, eating and sleeping and living in these four walls. 

He is halfway to the bedroom when he feels the familiar steel of a gun against his head. 

‘We’re gettin' too old to keep meeting like this.’ 

Steve tries to breathe but there seems to be no air in the room. The voice is unmistakeable; void of any Russian drawl, but still low and scratchy. The last thing he expected to hear out of Bucky’s mouth was a joke. Steve’s hands instinctively creep upwards and he begins to turn, willing his legs to hold out. The same nausea from the bridge seems to pump through his veins. There is no gunshot, though the handgun stays trained on his head, and it is the first time in seventy years that they have been this close without throwing punches. 

Bucky is wearing exactly the same clothes as in the security camera footage. His real arm holds the gun, though there is a slight tremor in his hand that Steve is sure wasn’t there last time they met. His eyes are dark, hidden by the cap, and there seems to be a disconnect between his body ad his words. He looks scared. The metal arm is by his side, but there is no glove hiding the hand and he flexes it when Steve’s gaze drops. Steve can’t find the words to respond; they cave in on themselves on his tongue and he breathes through a laugh at the whole sorry situation. How many times has he imagined this moment, and yet he’s never planned what to say. 

‘What?’ Bucky’s eyes are wild, halfway between fear and confusion. He gun shakes between them, 

‘You’re not gonna’ shoot me, Buck.’ Steve manages, dropping his hands to his side. The statement is more of a command than a prediction. Instead of dropping the gun, though, Bucky takes his other hand to it as well, grasping it as though it might tell him what to do. ‘I’m not here to hurt you.’ 

‘I’ve heard that one before.’ He says, but he lowers the gun. The contrast between his words and his physical state catches Steve off guard again. The words are Bucky’s, but it is difficult to ignore the reproachful stare he gives the whole apartment. 

‘I’ve seen what you’ve been through,’ Steve starts, 

‘You know nothing!’ Bucky screams at him, throwing the gun on the ground where it skids and lies against the door. Their eyes meet and for a second Steve braces himself for the hit. It doesn’t come. The yell is pained and hoarse and it breaks Steve’s heart. Because it’s true. He will never know how Bucky has suffered, or the extent of his torment. He got the easy way out and while he was sleeping for seventy years Bucky was watching his own hands inflict horror after horror in the name of HYDRA. 

The silence hangs, broken only by Bucky’s shaking breaths. He’s taken the cap off in restless anger and his hair looks more wild than ever. Steve wants, more than anything, to put his arms around him and carry some of the pain. He wants to stay by his side for the rest of time so no one can give him a reason to look this frightened again. 

‘Do you remember me?’ Steve looks to the floor. 

‘I did.’ His voice is barely more than a whisper, a stark juxtaposition to the screaming, ‘on the bridge, I did. And whatever you said to me, before you fell.’ 

Til the end of the line. Steve recalls the first time he’d heard Bucky say that, when his heart was heavy with grief over his mother. 

‘Do you know who I am?’ 

‘Steve.’ And Bucky looks up, his eyes unafraid now, ‘I remember moments, like photographs that I can’t hold onto. They come and go. It’s been a long time.’ 

They both chuckle and it feels almost natural, except for the gun on the floor and the fact that Steve’s heart is beating in double time. He notices the metal hand twitch, as though spasming. It looks unnatural and painful. 

‘Did I hurt you?’ It’s a loaded question, but to Steve’s surprise, Bucky smiles. For a second, the abnormality of the muscles stretching into a grin looks absurd on him, but underneath the fear and the stubble and the tired eyes, there is his best friend. 

‘Not as much as I hurt you.’ 

‘Ah,’ Steve laughs, ‘I had you on the ropes.’ 

It stirs a set of memories in Steve only after he’s said it. Most of them are filled with pain and a taste of blood; countless instances of times he just couldn’t back down. It’s a phrase he’d spoken to Bucky repeatedly after he’d come to Steve’s rescue down some god-forsaken back alley. There is no recognition on Bucky’s face; even the smile has been replaced with a blank stare. His heart sinks to his stomach. 

They talk for a while. Bucky has been in Brooklyn ever since Washington; it’s an easy place to keep a low profile and the security checks for housing are fairly non-existent. He hasn’t had any encounter with HYDRA, or anyone for that matter, which he says with a faintly wistful look in his eye. They fall into a comfortable silence after some time, though Bucky’s hands are still shaking. Steve decides it is time to try what he came here to do, 

‘Why don’t you come to mine for the night Buck?’ There is no reaction, ‘I’ve got a spare room, you can have a shower and some food.’ 

‘I can shower here.’ Bucky’s eyes are fixated at a spot on the wall. Whatever semblance of his best friend Steve saw earlier is gone, replaced by utter blankness. It seems common to lose him to a void every so often. 

‘You don’t have to be alone anymore.’ Steve stops himself putting his hand on Bucky’s knee, wishing to god he would just look at him. ‘We don’t have to be alone anymore.’ 

And that seems to do it. Bucky turns, his eyes full of a sadness too deep for Steve to comprehend, and he nods.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam meets them back at the car, the umbrella limp in his hand. He looks less than unimpressed. They’ve walked in silence this far but Bucky freezes when he sees Sam. Steve stops a few paces in front. It was always going to be hard to get him to trust Steve, let alone his friends, some of whom were fairly instrumental in trying to kill Bucky last time they met. To his surprise though, Bucky carries on walking and, once level with Steve, remarks; 

‘You didn’t tell me the bird dude was here.’ 

It’s hard to ignore the humming in Steve’s chest which feels dangerously like hope. There’s no point in imagining that this could work. Sam clenches his jaw obviously, and says nothing for the whole drive. They sit in brimming silence and spill out of the car at the other end. There is an obvious tension in Bucky’s shoulders but Steve manages to get him in the apartment without incident. Sam pulls him back outside, verging on furious, 

‘I trust you with my life Steve but this,’ He gestures to the front door, ‘this is not cool.’ 

Sam had agreed to help search for Bucky when Steve got out of hospital, but as the weeks turned into months and Steve grew ever more afraid of what the silence might have meant it became harder to be any help at all. Plus, it was hard for everyone to shake the memories of fighting the Winter Soldier. Sam had grown quite attached to the wings Bucky had laid waste to. 

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Steve replies, trying so hard to lie. He’s never been very good at it. Sam raises one eyebrow. ‘He just needs time.’ 

‘Yeah well, I signed up to help find him, not hide him in the spare room until he decides to not be a psychopathic criminal.’ 

And of course, Sam is right. He has been the voice of reason ever since they met and Steve knows his heart is ruling his head. But if they had burnt the videos into their brains like he had, maybe his friends would understand. 

‘Go home, I’ll call you tomorrow.’ He enters the apartment without another word. 

Bucky is stood in the middle of the living room, his eyes trained on the floor. He is completely still, his eyes devoid of feeling. Steve’s skin crawls. 

‘He’s right Steve.’ Bucky’s voice is little more than a croak. ‘I don’t want to hurt you I don’t,’ He shakes his head a little as though trying to ignore something, ‘but I am dangerous.’ 

The words come out clumsily as if he hasn’t spoken them before. Steve feels a heat behind his eyes and a fury in his blood. He has watched the videos and read the files, but witnessing it is something else. Bucky has been taught to be afraid of himself – of the consequences of his actions. Except none of the actions were ever his, and Steve has the overwhelming urge to travel overseas and blow up the next HYDRA base he can find. 

‘It’s not you, Buck.’ Steve manages, swallowing a lump in his throat. ‘Besides, I’m here now. Nothing bad is going to happen.’ 

Neither of them is convinced, but the words seem to ease the sadness just enough for Bucky to move. He explores the apartment like an animal, picking up Steve’s belongings and placing them down again as if looking for traps. When he reaches the mug beside Steve’s bed, one third full of cigarette ash, he frowns without a word. 

Bucky agrees to have a shower only after Steve points out his shivering shoulders. He leaves his clothes neatly folded on the spare bed before washing and, when Steve replaces them with a clean set of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he notices they’re damp and heavy. In the pocket is a small notebook, the cover stained and loose. He resists the urge to read it and instead leaves it on top of the clean clothes. Trust has to work both ways; he’s learnt that the hard way. 

Bucky spends an hour in the shower. After forty minutes, Steve is pacing outside. He hasn’t heard a sound except for the water and he’s trying to work through every rational scenario in his head before breaking down the door. There is a sound then though, so quiet that anyone without super hearing would certainly miss it. The tune of a song reaches Steve’s ears, a humming without words, but certainly a tune. It’s a modern song, one that he’s heard on radios in coffee shops recently, but it could be anything for all Steve cares. The sound is such a stark contrast to the man he has spent the last hour with; it transports Steve to another time. He sits on the edge of the bed and listens to Bucky’s voice, slightly off key and definitely out of time. There is a warmth in his heart which feels like coming home and for the first time, he allows the hope in. 

**** 

The rest of the day passes in periods of silence full of words which neither of them can say. Bucky paces the apartment, never letting go of the notebook. He asks Steve questions occasionally, but the answers never seem to turn up anything new. He settles in an armchair for most of the afternoon, though his shoulders stay tense. Several times there is a disturbing hissing noise and Bucky grits his teeth in pain, his metal arm spasming as before. His eyes find a middle distance often and seem to brim with confusion and fear. Steve longs to say something when this happens, to try and pull Bucky back into the room. He just doesn’t know how. 

Steve does his best to stay out of Bucky’s way. He goes for a run and takes a shower and goes to the shop for groceries. Pretending to look busy is something Steve has mastered after a few years being surrounded by people who actually are always busy, but he has never had to pretend to himself before. He is particularly concerned about the noises coming from Bucky’s arm, especially after the world’s longest shower. It is unlikely that he was ever meant to stay out of cryo for this long, and Steve suspects the prosthetic wasn’t built for it either. 

‘I can get my friend to take a look at that if you want,’ He says in the evening, gesturing awkwardly towards Bucky’s arm. He is still in the armchair, though he did briefly move to eat with Steve at the table. He’s had bad dates in the last few years but never a completely silent one until tonight. 

‘It’s fine.’ Bucky flexes his fingers in proof. He pauses, before saying, ‘besides, I’m not too great at lying on operating tables.’ 

Steve cringes inside, but Bucky is smiling sadly and he attempts the same. Every video they’ve seized from their worldwide HYDRA tour flashes before Steve’s mind. Of course Bucky doesn’t want someone he’s never met poking around his body. As if in retaliation, though, the same metallic hissing noise fills the room and Bucky exhales through a grunt of pain. 

‘He can come here. I’ll be here.’ Steve tries desperately, ‘no labs, I promise.’ 

Bucky grits his teeth and agrees and Steve relaxes. He sends a text to Banner and asks him to come to the apartment tomorrow with enough equipment to fix a very complicated car. There’s no need to tell him any more than that or else he’ll overthink the whole thing and not turn up. 

They sit together for a while more, Steve once again reading the same paragraph of the same book over and over, until Bucky stands and heads towards his room. He reaches the doorway, then stops and turns, meeting Steve’s eyes with warmth instead of the usual icy stare. 

‘I said it to you, didn’t I?’ His voice is gentle and Steve knows exactly what he’s talking about. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘I remembered. When your mum...and you moved in and...’ He frowns, the physical effort of remembering obvious on his face. ‘God you were so small!’ 

The Bucky that Steve knows bleeds through the cracks again, his voice raised like a child and they both laugh. It feels alien. 

‘Night Steve.’ He says and disappears into the dark room. It takes Steve half an hour to stop smiling. 

**** 

The doorbell rings around midday the next day. The morning has passed in a similar chaotic silence to the previous afternoon, apart from a discussion over whether Bucky needed to eat breakfast which resulted in a fair amount of disappointed sighing from Steve. 

‘Boy am I glad to see you,’ Steve says as he sees Bruce. His face falls when he realises Natasha is standing behind him. 

Convincing Bucky to let one stranger in the place was hardly an easy task; Steve doubts adding someone he’s actually tried to kill before to the mix is going to help. 

‘Sorry Steve,’ Bruce looks between Steve and Natasha like they’re his parents arguing, ‘she insisted on coming when I told them you asked.’ 

He has no choice but to let them in the apartment. Bucky is sitting in the armchair, writing something in the notebook in shaky, childish hand-writing. He looks up as they walk in and closes the book silently. He frowns, grinds his teeth together, then stands. His hair shadows his eyes and for a second Steve is afraid. 

‘Nice to see you again, Sargeant Barnes.’ Natasha’s voice cuts through the thick silence. Bucky’s head tilts at the name and he frowns. How long has it been since someone called him that? Bruce’s mouth is a little too open to hide a complete shock of who is standing in Steve’s living room, but at Nat’s words he puts down the cases he’s carrying and pushes his glasses up his nose. 

‘Romanov,’ Bucky’s eyes are neither his or HYDRA’s, ‘I tried to kill you.’ 

‘You very nearly succeeded.’ 

Bruce and Steve stare for a little too long as Nat sits down on the couch and pulls out her phone. She has a way of making even the most awkward of situations easy going, and she smirks at Steve over her shoulder. Bucky is equally as taken aback by her attitude, clearly not used to people being unafraid when standing face to face with him. He looks happy about it though and Steve thanks the lord Bruce didn’t bring Tony along for the trip instead. 

‘I’m Dr Banner,’ Bruce attempts to drag his eyes off Bucky’s arm, ‘or Bruce, if you like.’ 

Bucky nods, but it is more aimed at Steve than Bruce. He accepts these people. He feels safe. 

‘I’m-,’ but Bucky’s voice falls dead. His eyes fixate on the floor for a moment too long, ‘Barnes. Or James. Or Bucky. Who knows.’ 

He doesn’t meet Steve’s eye but smiles politely at the floor. Bruce nods nervously, taking a third bag off his back and placing it carefully on the table in the corner of the room. Steve feels sick. Who does know? Nat reaches across the back of the couch without looking and squeezes his hand. He really must work on being less obvious. 

‘So, why am I here?’ Bruce asks gingerly as though Bucky is about to ask him to be a human sacrifice. For someone who can be so big and brutal, Bruce really is incredibly timid. 

‘Bucky’s arm it’s...’ Steve trails off, expecting Bucky to finish the sentence. His mouth stays shut, his blank stare on Bruce who is methodically unpacking all manner of portable machines which beep and whir almost tunefully, ‘it’s been making some pretty wacky noises.’ 

‘I don’t know how much I’ll be able to do here bu-,’ Bruce says, but Steve stops him in his tracks. 

‘If you could just take a look. That’s all.’ He really wishes he’d explained the whole situation prior to this moment. The wonders of hindsight. 

Bucky sits on a chair near the table. His jaw is set and there’s a fear lurking in his expression. Bruce kneels beside him and gets to work with a confidence that seems to come from nowhere. Steve hovers nearby, shifting his weight between his feet just for something to do. Natasha stays on the couch. The room is quiet except for occasional sounds of metal on metal and Bucky trying to hide seethes of pain. Each time Steve moves a little closer, wanting to put a hand on his shoulder but being too afraid of what that might mean. 

‘It hurts?’ Bruce asks after a while. He’s monitoring something on a screen, wires trailing out of Bucky’s arm, making it look somehow even more sinister. He nods, his hair falling, obscuring his eyes from Steve who looks like it might be hurting him more than Bucky. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Steve asks finally. He’s been holding it in for the past twenty minutes and he practically runs to Bruce’s side to see the screen. It means nothing to him, though. Nat pulls herself up and joins them, but she screws up her face at the numbers and lines. 

‘It’s not good.’ Bucky looks up too, his eyes wide. ‘It was never built for this long-term use. The outer shell will be fine, nothing is getting through that, but inside is different. The mechanism inside is malfunctioning, the receptors and reactors which connect the nerve endings to the arm are corroding. They’re almost like prototypes it seems, only enough shelf life for a week or so and it’s been seven months.’ 

Bucky looks grey. Steve looks like he’s about to be sick. 

‘What does that mean?’ Nat asks, 

‘There’s likely a lot of damage to the nerves. The corrosion will have led to a leak in chemicals on the inside.’ All horrified eyes are on Bruce, ‘It’ll be in his blood by now, if not in the cells surrounding the joint. I’d give it a few more weeks before sickness really kicks in. His immune system has done a good job of fighting the infection so far, but I doubt whatever serum was used is good enough to withstand this level of chemical breach.’ 

The room seems to be spinning. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to cry. Not again. Once again, he is too late to save Bucky. His heart aches and he feels small again; watching his best friend hurtling towards a fate which is seemingly sealed. 

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s Nat’s voice that breaks the ringing in Steve’s ears. She’s talking to Bucky though, who has carefully removed each wire from the arm and is now fixated on Steve. His eyes are not blank for once, they are full of sorrow. He looks seconds away from tears and Steve can’t stand here across the room anymore. 

As he reaches Bucky, he stands to meet him and their arms close around each other so naturally. Neither makes a sound, but Steve feels a tear hit the shoulder of his t-shirt and grips even tighter. He cannot let this go. It is everything he has dreamt of since he knew Bucky was out there. He whispers an apology into Bucky’s hair as if that could cure a dying man. 

When the draw apart, their arms falling awkwardly by their sides, Bruce has begun packing everything away. He looks sheepish and flushed. Natasha stands with her arms folded by the door. She jerks her head towards it and Steve, though reluctant to leave Bucky, is more reluctant to not do what she tells him, and follows her outside. Bruce joins them. 

‘I’m so sorry Steve.’ She says, her eyes searching him. He tries not to think about how long she knew Bucky was in New York. How much time he could’ve had with him to fix this. 

‘I can’t lose him.’ Are the only words he can manage, 

‘There are things we could try. If we get to it soon his body could heal. I’d need to talk to Tony but I’m sure we could come up with a replacement.’ Bruce talks exponentially fast. 

‘We’ll get him back.’ Nat puts her hand on his arm and Steve feels himself shaking under her skin. 

‘He’s all I have.’ Steve says, and he holds onto Nat’s hand as though maybe it could rewind time and fix everything. Maybe he could go back to lying in bed with Bucky in a freezing single bed flat in a time where HYDRA was something he might read about in a comic. 

Bruce and Nat leave with a promise to call him tomorrow after talking things over with Tony. Steve finds Bucky in the same place he left him. His face is full of shadows and Steve wonders if he can feel the toxicity in his body. He looks on the verge of something. 

‘Hey.’ It feels futile, but Bucky stands and crosses the room to him. He picks up the notebook from the armchair and slips it into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

‘I think I should go.’ His words are a mumble, 

‘Don’t be stupid Buck.’ 

‘I’m not good enough for all this Steve. I can’t be the person you want me to be. I’ve tried and I’ve failed and I don’t want to hurt you like this.’ Bucky’s voice isn’t raised. The sentences are stilted and seem to take a lot of work to form. He’s trying to get to the door but Steve stands in his way. 

‘I’ll wait for you. Hell, I’ve waited this long. I don’t need you to be anything else or anyone else Buck.’ Steve has a distinct feeling that he’s losing his grip on something. ‘You can walk out of here and go back to Brooklyn and that’s fine. But don’t think for a second I’m giving up on you. ‘ 

Steve lets Bucky pass. His throat is dry and there’s a sad sickness in his stomach which seems to rise and fall with every step Bucky takes. He can’t keep him here like a pet; that makes him no worse than any of the other men who have had their hands on him before. But he feels small again, as though he’s watching him leave for England all over again. It feels like a blow to the chest, his breathing threatening to tighten. 

‘It’s always been me and you. Rogers and Barnes, Steve and Bucky, it’s always been us and it always will be. Even if you don’t remember it just yet.’ His voice cracks. ‘I’m with you.’ 

He can’t finish the sentence, though he refuses to cry. He is not the one with a bloodstream full of chemicals. He is not the one who can’t remember his own name. He will not cry. 

‘You never did know when to back down.’ Bucky says in the doorway. The afternoon sun silhouettes him like a stained-glass window. His smile is back for a second, before it fades to a desperate vacancy. ‘I can take care of myself Steve. I just can’t sit here and watch it hurt you. But if you insist, you know where to find me.’ 

And then he is gone. Steve slams the door behind him, anger and sadness and loneliness all rising like a fever in his blood. He has lost him. Again. The apartment seems immediately huge and vacuous. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. He will never get used to saying goodbye. 

But at least this time he can help. Steve has every faith in Tony and Bruce; they’re bound to come up with a stupidly clever way to fix him up. And he has faith in the memories working their way back to Bucky. He vows to visit tomorrow and try and help, though Steve is unsure whether that is for his own benefit or Bucky’s. He is sure of one thing, though: Bucky will not die because Steve was too late. 

He repeats this bundle of falsely optimistic thoughts to himself all evening. When the adrenalin wears off, he climbs into the bed in the spare room where Bucky slept. It is cold, but the bed sheets smell of the soap from the shower and Steve decides it is as good as he is going to get. He tries not to imagine him here, but it’s a fairly futile effort and his mind drifts to a world where they lie side by side. It doesn’t take long for sleep to come to him. Bucky will not die because Steve was too late. 

**** 

Steve is at Bucky’s apartment by midday the next morning. He’s brought some food and a new notebook for him, as an apology for his outburst yesterday. Maybe Bucky didn’t think Steve would show up the next day, but he is past caring. He’s yet to hear from Bruce and Tony, but he suspects it won’t be long. He doubts they stop for sleep much these days anyway. 

The door to the apartment is open again. Steve makes a mental note to ask why a man who is trained in espionage likes to leave his front door open as he heads in, but the second he sees the room his stomach drops. 

Far from the immaculate show home he had visited before, the place has been wrecked. The kitchen table is split in two, wood shavings littering the carpet. Two of the cupboards have lost their doors and glass crunches under foot. There is the distinct knife shaped hole in the wall above the sofa, and another on the cushions. Steve’s heart is racing like never before. He drops the bag and checks each room three times. No Bucky. 

The bed is unmade. By its side, there is a notebook, and an unopened pack of Lucky Strikes. The receipt is with them, unaffected by the commotion. They were bought last night. There are scratch marks on the wall above the mattress. A rushing sound booms in Steve’s ears and he can’t quite comprehend the scene. That is until he sees a tiny metal object glinting in the sun, amongst the glass. He picks it up and almost immediately drops it. It’s a pin, the head displaying an emblem which Steve knows all too well. His blood runs cold. 

There is only one thought that breaks through the sound of his own heartbeat. Steve is too late. And Bucky is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one but I didn't want to give too much aware! Wrote this while listening to Taylor Swift's new album on repeat so I feel she deserves some credit for my inspiration. I'm loving writing this so much and I can only hope y'all love reading it too :)

Bucky comes around with a lurch and for a second, he’s convinced he is falling. He is not. There is pain coming from at least four different parts of his body, but the back of his head is definitely suffering the most. A sharp, needling pain seems to work its way into his brain and the memories of the events that brought him here are dumped like garbage into his consciousness. Four men had come for him. He’d brought down three without even reaching for the guns under the floorboards, but the fourth had more than just weapons. A needle had found his neck and his body had crumpled beneath him. And now he is here. 

His body feels leaden but, to his surprise, there are no restraints. He’s been placed on a single, metal framed bed, in the middle of a huge room with no other furniture in it. It takes a great effort for Bucky to sit up, but he does and surveys his surroundings. If this is the work of HYDRA then the destruction of SHIELD has clearly had an impact on their way of working. The room is vast. Three of the walls are black and appear to be made out of glass. The other is a window. Outside, the earth is scorched a deep red colour for as far as he can see. Crags of rust coloured rock jut through the surface and dirt swirls over the peaks like a river. It is dry and scorched, the sun beating down mercilessly. There are no roads. No cars. No signs of life. Bucky is very far from Brooklyn. 

A heavy sense of dread settles in his stomach. He’d been so careful in New York not to be found. He’d begun to build a life again, to regain fragments of what he’d lost. His memories are still like a half-finished patchwork quilt but they are there. Bucky realises he’s still wearing Steve’s clothes and a thick, hot panic begins climbing his spine. 

He remembers Steve the most. The last seven months have been full of him, despite his absence. Sometimes, the drips and drabs of memories confuse him. There is sadness and anger and a warmth which feels different to anything else. It’s elusive and it’s partly that which stopped him looking for Steve. Moments between them, like photographs, often present themselves to him like questions waiting to be answered. Sometimes he can place them, but they often fade into a general desire to be by his side for every second of the day. Steve is a priority. He knows that much. 

The pain in Bucky’s head pulses and a door in the wall behind the bed opens almost silently. He can’t turn his head to look; whatever drug entered his system in Brooklyn is still having some sort of effect. Footsteps echo around the room until the man is standing opposite him. His eyes are cold and his suit carries the pin Bucky knows all too well. Nothing stirs any sort of recognition. 

‘Солдат,’ the man’s voice seems to fill his head, ‘it’s good to see you.’ 

Bucky’s heart thuds in his chest, a pain in his arm making it even harder to breathe. An instinct to run floods his veins; a terror which he has not felt in months. He knows how this ends. 

‘I’m Mitchell Carson, former head of defence at SHIELD, now head of operations for what is left of HYDRA.’ He smiles and carries on talking, readjusting his tie, ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your period of leave. Brooklyn wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I’m sure you had your reasons.’ 

Bucky tries to swallow through a thick lump forming in his throat. Of course he was stupid to think he was elusive. If Steve found him, of course HYDRA had. 

‘I’m done being your killing machine.’ He grits his teeth as he speaks. Anger and fear battle for a place in his heart. If he wasn’t certain that there is a gun trained on his head right now he’d have his hand around the man’s throat. 

‘I know you are; we just need one last thing from you.’ 

Carson taps something on his watch and the wall to Bucky’s right flashes to life. It’s one huge screen and a video plays, the people in it larger than life. The images show an enormous room full of people. Each one has had their head shaven and they wear identical black uniforms. It is an army. He recognises that much. 

‘Does this look familiar?’ The man asks. 

‘No.’ 

‘Back in the 90s, we managed to produce a version of the serum used to create you on mass. HYDRA created an army of winter soldiers; a force that was to be used when the world was ready to collapse to ensure that it fell in the right direction.’ The screen shows hundreds of blank faces. ‘They were put into cryo and stored in a location only known to the director of HYDRA. Unfortunately, Alexander Pierce passed away before he could move the information on.’ 

‘Why would I know where they are?’ Bucky’s throat is dry. 

The film on screen switches and he instantly recognises himself. He’s stood in the middle of a circle of the soldiers, speaking in Russian. One of the men approaches him and he flips him onto his back in one swift movement, the sound of a snap clear as day. Bucky understands exactly what he is doing and his heart drops to his stomach. An urge to vomit sends the room spinning and he knows what the words out of Carson’s mouth are going to be before he says them; 

‘You trained them.’ 

He wants to move, to run, to fight, but the panic glues him to the spot. The video has stopped again and his own face stares out larger than life from the wall. He doesn’t remember, but even if he did, Bucky would not tell them. He’s seen what they’re capable of with just one of him, let alone a whole army. If there is one thing he can do to make up for the years of terror he’s inflicted, it’s to protect the world from this. If worse comes to worst, he’s only got weeks to live before the infection kicks in anyway. 

‘It’s been a while since you were last wiped, soldier,’ Carson’s voice is less smarmy now, ‘we expect there to be a fair bit of recollection.’ 

Bucky flexes his fingers and instinctively clenches his fists. 

‘I don’t remember.’ 

‘But you remember this?’ Carson touches something on his wrist again and the window out into the dust transforms into another screen. The room is unusually dark without the sunlight. 

A series of clips and photos appear, repeating themselves over and over. They show him and Steve, their smiles wide and eyes not shadowed by death and tragedy. The picture is too big and too bright. He’s seen the photos before in a museum, but they turn something in his stomach and the room seems suddenly bigger, the panic more alarming. Bringing Steve into this changes the game. He hears his own voice laugh around the room; a clip from a propaganda video shows them with their arms around each other’s shoulders, snow falling around them. It is like looking at a dream. He has remembered this before, the freezing cold and Steve’s breath in the air between them. 

The images stop and a shiver invades Bucky’s spine. The dull ache which so often accompanies thoughts of Steve begins to pulse in his chest and for a second the pain in his head subsides. Carson takes a step closer, his impatience clear on his face. He says something in Russian that Bucky doesn’t understand word for word. It is an order, though, that much is clear. 

‘I don’t know where they are.’ Bucky too is losing his patience. The images of himself seem to be mocking him. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. 

‘Oh I’m sure you do.’ Carson walks back to the door, his voice bouncing in the chasmic space, ‘it’s just a matter of time.’ 

With that, Bucky is alone again. The screens fade, the red rock flaunting itself once again. He watches until every piece of the image has disappeared, himself and Steve vanishing. The natural panic dissipates from his body now he’s alone and an exhaustion drags itself in. He gets to his feet despite himself and finds the only other door in the room leads to a tiny room with a toilet. Decent of them, he thinks, before catching sight of himself in a mirror on the wall. It is strange how little he recognises himself. His skin is a sickly grey colour, the eyes which he knows used to be blue are more of a shade of grey too, and ringed with red and purple bruises. He tries not to look at his arm. It reminds him of the things he has done. 

He remembers a lot of missions, but never the details. There is always blood, often screaming and an overwhelming feeling of fear pervades the thoughts. It is those things that he sees in the mirror, no matter how hard he tries to forgive himself. The loneliness of the empty room feels deserved now and he can’t shake the feeling that dying might just be a welcome break. Only a few weeks to go. The thought feels wrong; invasive. 

The ominous silence does not break once the sun falls. Bucky spends a long time studying the landscape, trying to work out where he is. There is little in the way of clues, though, and once the sun disappears the darkness smothers his surroundings both inside and out. He wonders if Steve is looking for him. He hopes not. It was bad enough watching Steve tiptoe around him for 24 hours, trying not to show his anguish but being so blatantly upset by Bucky’s vacancy. If he were to get hurt by all this again it would be a debt which Bucky could never repay. He’s meant to be the one looking out for Steve- of that he is sure. 

He distinctly remembers the first time he saw Steve after the serum, Bucky’s own body still processing Zola’s work. He remembers Steve half carrying him out of the workshop he’d resigned himself to dying in, confusion and relief battling for a place in his head. Steve had always been so small, often hovering on the edge of mortality in their bed, every disc in his spine protruding awkwardly out of his skin. Bucky had worried more often than he’d ever admit that he’d come back to find himself alone, Steve’s body having lost the battle against itself. Yet there he was, hauling Bucky out of reach of deaths clutches with one arm in the middle of a battlefield full of broken men. He remembers every second of that day as though it were last week. It was not the first time Bucky had needed Steve, but he’s sure that was what Steve believed. 

Hours after the sun has set, he lets himself rest. The pain in his head has gone; replaced by searing stabs in his shoulders and chest. His body is running on empty and he prays for it to plunge him into sleep for a while. His own laugh seems to be ringing in his ears, accompanied by Steve’s voice. Til’ the end of the line. The phrase screams around the corners of Bucky’s mind and he whispers it out loud, forcing himself to try and find the comfort in it that he knows he is supposed to. A sickly sleep creeps up on him like a ghost and finally he slips into unconsciousness, his mouth still tracing the words like a prayer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long this has taken me! I hope it's worth the wait eek

It takes Steve less than two hours to get everyone under one roof. He spends the first hour making frantic phone calls, biting back a stinging grief, and when Sam asks him if he thinks the fight is worth it Steve hangs up in response. Tony stays quiet and he appreciates that, all too aware that the sudden appearance of Captain America at a new address in Brooklyn was almost certainly the flag HYDRA were waiting for. He is grateful for the lack of ‘I told you so’. Natasha is with Clint somewhere in New Jersey when he calls, but they both drop everything and head to the tower. A rush of love for his friends trips a switch in Steve and the gut-wrenching panic is replaced by a steady pulse and the familiar sickness of adrenalin. This is a rescue mission; they’ve done it before and they can do it again. 

The second hour Steve spends at his apartment. It feels hollow now he’s alone, the sound of Bucky singing in the shower still seeming to bounce off the walls in a cruel echo. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, willing the hero to appear, but all he can see is a stubborn kid out of his depth. Perhaps that is all he ever has been. 

He shaves, ignoring his cell phone ringing almost constantly, and leaves the apartment with his shield in hand. A black car with no license plate is idling outside the building, distinctively Stark, and he makes a mental note to thank Pepper when he gets the chance. Tony never thought to send a car – something to do with his preferred mode of transport being flight. 

Steve is the last to arrive and the room falls silent as soon as the elevator opens. Nat and Clint are sat on the couch in the centre of the space, already clad in black suits and handling a variety of weapons. Sam is perched on the arm, his wings on the floor by his feet. The bar facing the ceiling height windows is occupied by Bruce, who turns from side to side on one of the stools like a metronome, some kind of screen pulled up in front of him. Tony hovers awkwardly behind him. The silence that settles is expectant. 

‘No word from Fury?’ Steve’s voice instantly resumes the scene. He swallows a mix of fear and guilt. A few days ago he had been unable to even think about speaking to Tony; he had been certain that nothing could bridge that gap. Now, the sight of him is nothing but an emblem of hope. It turns out all it took was a certain super soldier going missing. 

‘Nothing. Still in Europe somewhere. And Thor is a no-show of course – no signal in Asgard I assume.’ Nat stands up as she talks, tossing an arrowhead which looks more like the head of a mace to Barton, ‘We’re ready to go, though.’ 

‘Go where?’ Steve falters. He has no idea where to start looking for Bucky – if he had, he would’ve already gone alone. 

‘While you were making yourself pretty,’ Tony doesn’t look at Steve for a reaction, ‘we found the last known location of the tracker Banner put in your boyfriend’s arm.’ 

Steve looks from Tony to Bruce at least twice before processing the information properly. Of course Bruce was smart enough to add a tracker. A wave of guilt passes through him at how quickly he dismissed his friends before – how he had forgotten that this was, in a lot of ways, his family. And here they were again, ready to risk everything for someone who had almost killed three of them on more than one occasion, all because of Steve. For a second his heart feels like it isn’t breaking apart. 

‘You know where he is?!’ His voice threatens to break. 

‘Well we don’t know if that’s where he is b-,’ Bruce starts, 

‘But it’s a start, right?’ Steve crosses to where Bruce is sat, a red dot blinking on the screen in front of him. Sam follows. ‘Austria?’ 

‘No satellite images available, but I’m sure you know the area,’ Bruce says slowly, anticipating the colour draining from Steve’s face seconds before it does. 

Steve has only been in Austria once. The soaring mountains provide a backdrop to the memory that creeps into his sleep so often. The train, the scream, the gut-wrenching loss that ricocheted through his world. He’s certain this is no coincidence; the same place and the same stakes, just almost a hundred years later. A steely determination overrides the sickly grief. He is going to be ready this time. 

‘You okay?’ Sam puts a hand on his shoulder and Steve knows they are all aware of what exactly is playing through his mind. He nods, but doesn’t manage a smile. 

‘Time to suit up then Cap,’ Tony calls from across the room, his finger already on the elevator button. Steve does smile then. 

‘Put this in the trunk for me,’ He hands his shield to Sam and heads downstairs to get changed. The routine is familiar; the armoury and the whirr of the quinjet on the roof have become natural parts of his life and by the time he reaches the jet, Steve is just about ready for a fight. 

**** 

Even in the quinjet the flight is longer than any of them would like. Anticipation creeps up on Steve and it becomes harder and harder not to speculate about what awaits them. His imagination seems to be taunting him and he wishes now more than ever that he hadn’t have watched the seized HYDRA footage until it was burnt into his brain. 

‘Hey.’ Natasha’s says, sitting down in the seat opposite Steve, next to Sam. Sam’s gaze doesn’t move from the window and the clouds beyond. Steve has a sneaking suspicion that he isn’t best impressed with the whole situation. 

‘Hey.’ He offers. 

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself for this.’ Her voice is low, though Clint is asleep and Tony and Bruce are flying. Steve sighs, his whole body moving with the motion. 

‘You and Tony were right. I went in there without a second thought and guess what, that’s exactly what they were waiting for.’ 

‘But he didn’t run.’ Sam looks at Nat when she says this, ‘we thought he’d run from you, that was why we didn’t tell you. But he didn’t.’ 

There is a long pause. Steve pictures Bucky in his apartment, but the image slips into an older memory. A different apartment. Another time where Steve was the one curled up in the corner. His shoulders feel suddenly grotesquely large. 

‘No.’ He agrees, ‘he knew me, or at least he wanted to.’ 

‘Whatever happens today, or tomorrow, or whenever,’ Sam keeps his voice equally as low. It’s the voice he uses at the VA, or when he sat with Steve through the videos, ‘you know we’ll do whatever we can to help. I know we don’t mean half as much to you as he does, but we aren’t going anywhere.’ 

‘Thanks.’ He says, and he means it. He tries not to feel horrible for how quickly he would give everything up for Bucky, especially after everything Sam and Nat have done for him. Sam goes back to watching the sky pass them by. 

‘It never used to be this way round.’ Steve carries on, desperate to be heard now, to justify their journey. The silence is booming and threatening. ‘I was such a selfish, self-righteous jerk. I used to think it was the right thing to do, to get in fights, to stand up to the big guys. And it was always Bucky that hauled me out of them.’ 

Clint is awake now, roused by the rawness of his voice. Even on the nights they’d found Steve at his worst, he’d never really talked about how he felt. 

‘And he was always the one patching me up afterwards. I was never grateful enough – too proud and full of myself. He used to take care of my mom and then when she died he didn’t even think twice about letting me live with him. Used to spend all day working then gave me all the food he had. He kept us all upright, his family too, kept the world spinning.’ 

Nat reaches a hand towards him, aware of the trembling of his own. They have all read the files, they know how quickly Bucky had made Seargeant and how valued he was in the army. There was nothing in them about life before that. Steve’s words seem to form themselves out of the memories and a nausea accompanies them. 

‘He was a much better man than I ever was.’ Steve whispers. Sam shoots a look at Nat and then Clint, but it is Tony’s voice that interjects, 

‘No one likes it when you’re humble Rogers.’ 

Steve has his back to Tony, but he smiles genuinely and Clint lets out a little snort. The room seems to relax; a comfortable sympathy and newfound respect for the task at hand settles amongst them. 

‘Good nap, Barton?’ Tony continues, idly fiddling with something on his wrist, 

‘Average. Could do with more leg room if you’re upgrading any time soon.’ 

‘Well it’s a good job we are on business and not a holiday then isn’t it.’ In response to this, Clint throws one of the two pillows behind his head at Tony. It hits him square in the face and falls to the floor. Sam and Nat conceal their laughter. 

‘Real mature,’ Tony responds, but he is half smiling, ‘we land in five.’ 

He disappears back to the front of the jet. They’re shrouded in darkness now, the time difference making it the middle of the night in Austria. Steve glances out of the window and shudders at the sight of the ground lit up by the jet. Snow covers everything, with occasional daggers of grey rock rising up towards them like hands. He remembers the cold all too well. 

**** 

They land a mile out from the tracker location. It’s a desert of snow and in the dark the valley seems to be alive. The alps soar above them on either side, closing in the freezing quiet. Bruce stays behind in the jet, monitoring their locations, and no one argues. Sometimes a big, green, uncontrollable ma is not an asset. 

Though it is hard to imagine anything appearing in the blankness, Tony and Sam fly ahead, through the still-falling snow. 

‘There’s an old building up here,’ Sam says, and Bruce matches it to the location. 

‘It’s tiny, they’re either operating the world’s smallest evil lair or it goes underground.’ Tony says. 

By the time they get there, the cold is biting at Steve’s hands. It does nothing to deter him, though; a fierce resoluteness surges in him, no different to all the back-alley punch ups he wormed his way into eighty years ago. The building is barely still standing. Its steel roof sags lazily under the weight of the ice and the walls seem to be one breath away from giving up. At either end of the structure, there are gaping holes, and it takes Steve a moment to recognise the form in the darkness. A train station. 

His stomach does a backflip and his fist clenches involuntarily around the shield. Whoever is in charge clearly enjoys theatrics. It seems too wicked. The slick metal tracks carving a line either side of the building have not escaped the notice of his friends, either. 

‘This doesn’t feel right.’ Sam mutters, landing gracefully. Tony stays airborne. 

‘Does it ever?’ Clint responds, already holding three arrows to the string of his bow. They are wildly exposed. Beads of sweat begin to form down Steve’s back despite the freezing temperature. 

‘This the right spot?’ He says to Bruce, but before they can hear any answer, there’s gunfire behind them. 

Instinct kicks in and Steve throws up his shield just in time. Sam is in the air in seconds, heading towards the face of the mountain where flashes of shots blink. 

‘Heat signatures coming from inside now,’ Tony’s voice cuts through the noise, ‘must be a way underground.’ 

Steve and Natasha make it inside before their assailants make it out, but there are far more than they can handle on their own. In the floor of the wet earth inside the building is a set of steel steps leading down into the ground, from which men clad in bulletproof protection pour. 

‘Cap, you gotta get underground,’ Sam says in his ear, ‘take Romanov, we’ll draw them out up here.’ 

The shattering sound of one of Clint’s grenade-esque arrows takes the attention of a group of men and Natasha effortlessly brings them down. Steve is sure she doesn’t make a sound. 

‘You sure?’ He replies, launching his shield at one of the walls, which wobbles slightly before sending it straight into the back of one of the soldiers with a crunch, 

‘Yeah, just hurry up about it,’ Tony’s voice is strained, but the confirmation reaches them both and they head for the now clear stairs. 

They climb down for what feels like forever, the noise of the fight disappearing once they turn their third corner and descend even deeper. Eventually, they reach a door double Steve’s height. It is open; a gaping mouth of steel. On the metal of the wall is a faded emblem of HYDRA. He tries not to think about how deep underground they are- how nobody could hear them scream. The silence is oppressive, and it is only halfway down the corridor after the door that Nat puts her finger to her ear, 

‘Bruce?’ She hisses, ‘Tony?’ 

Steve becomes aware of it too. They have been cut off. A sickly dread seeps through him; if their communication is cut off, how has the tracker in Bucky’s arm given off signal? He knows the answer, and from the grave look on Nat’s face, she does too. They wanted it to show up on their map. 

‘Guess we’re on our own.’ She says, but the blood pumping in Steve’s ears drown out her voice. 

They walk further in silence, stopping at every corner, but there are no signs of life. No rooms come off the corridor, despite its twists and turns, until they reach a section of the steel walls which has been replaced by thick glass. Beyond the glass is a cavernous space, half rock and half supporting metal beams. White lights seem to come from nowhere and cast shadows on the underbelly of the earth as though it were an art installation. A huge screen is suspended halfway against the back wall. A single, black, table which is bolted to the steel floor stands unceremoniously in the centre and on it, a tiny black square with an even tinier red light flashing on and off. 

Steve loses all thoughts of procedure, of risk and danger, and practically throws himself into the room. Natasha shouts after him but it is too late. She follows him, her gun raised. He reaches the table and puts his fist through the tracker, the table buckling under the force and bending towards the ground. The red light stops blinking. Blood pumps in his ears, mocking him for falling for their game. Having hope always made you weak; he should know that. 

‘Steve, let’s get out of here.’ Nat tries, half knowing that he won’t hear her. She has her back to the screen, her eyes on the door. It is a long way back up to ground level. 

‘Oh hang on, what’s the rush?’ A voice creeps into the cave, but they are alone. It is as though the walls are speaking. The glass door slides shut on its own. ‘Recognise my voice?’ 

It takes Steve a second to place it, but Natasha already knows. Rumlow. 

‘I thought you would.’ The cave laughs. 

‘Where is he?’ Steve’s voice is shaky and low. A drip of blood floats down his palm. Even that feels cold. 

‘Your Bucky?’ The words make him wince. Before he can retaliate, though, the screen flickers to life. Natasha cocks her gun, aiming it at the display. 

It shows a shaky video stream of an equally large room. The camera is on one wall, facing into the room. There is nothing but a steel framed bed in the centre. Standing to one side of it is Bucky. Steve has to put one hand on the table to steady himself, relief at the image threatening to buckle his legs. The camera shows only his side profile, but it is unmistakeable. He is still wearing Steve’s clothes. 

Bucky is staring at the wall opposite him, though it is not really a wall at all. The floor to ceiling projection shows the cave Steve is in. It shows Steve and Natasha, the bent table, the glass wall. Steve raises his shield slightly and sure enough, the screen Bucky’s eyes are trained on mimics the action. 

‘Steve,’ Natasha says, her eyes searching the room for the camera. ‘We need to go.’ 

‘Buck!’ Steve shouts at the screen. Bucky hears him, his legs giving in, his knees sinking him to the floor. Steve can’t see if he replies; the camera is at the wrong angle, but there is no audio anyway. His hands shake and he drops his shield. The sight is terrifying, yes, but at least he is alive. There is still time. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

He watches Bucky raise his head to the screen. The movement is slow, as though it causes him pain. A flash of anger surges through him, but it quickly ebbs to desperation. The cave is quiet except for his shaky breathing. 

‘I’m sorry for leaving you, for letting you go.’ He is still shouting, willing Bucky to turn his head to the camera. ‘We’re gonna get you out Buck.’ 

The walls in the room start to shake – or maybe they have been shaking for a while and he hasn’t noticed. The metal pillars are groaning with movement, but Steve’s instincts fail him. A deep fear roots him to the spot; a fear that he has failed once again. How many times can he lose the one person he can’t be without? 

‘We need to go Rogers, this thing is about to collapse,’ Nat practically screams at him, her gun is aimed towards a glass panel and she lodges three bullets in it before resorting to kicking at the ruptures. 

But Steve knows he isn’t about to leave. He tries frantically to find clues in the image on the screen, but there is nothing. They have been played, and, as usual, Steve had jumped at the first fight he was offered, but there is no adrenalin left now. This is his surrender. The rumbling of the walls around him gets louder but it doesn’t register. The screen falters slightly and Steve’s heart jumps as the image disappears for a second before re-establishing itself. 

He watches Bucky gets to his feet, a sense of urgency in his movements. He is faintly aware of rocks falling around him, of Nat leaving him, her red hair disappearing into the rubble. Bucky scrapes his hands through his hair and Steve sees his face. It is covered in streaks of tears, and even on the terrible screen he can tell his eyes are glistening blue, the way they had done when he left for England. Steve watches the screen Bucky is watching, and sees himself mouth the words I’m sorry. Bucky opens his mouth as though he is going to say something, but it is not words; it is a cry. Steve feels his heart split in two as he watches the silent scream. 

The screen goes black and, half a second later, the world does too.


	6. Chapter 6

This is a new pain; it stirs deep and solid in his heart, like a rock hitting the floor of the ocean. Bucky finds himself out of breath even though he is still and quiet. The room is obnoxiously silent. He has seen so much death before - so many people take their last undignified breath – and yet this is a new feeling. External pain was something manageable, but this is deeper than any wound he’s nursed. The feeling brings clarity, though. Steve is what matters most, and what has always mattered most. Eighty years of being someone else can not shake it from Bucky. He can’t remember being sure of anything before, but this is larger and heavier than anything has ever been. 

The room is dark without the projection. There is no moon and the window exposes a darkness that feels oppressive. Streaks from tears paint a mosaic on Bucky’s face, his eyes red and slightly swollen from grief. Of all the things HYDRA have tried, this is by far the worst. Carson stands with his back to the window. He is smiling a little and the sight makes Bucky’s skin crawl with an anger which feels utterly raw. If they thought this would induce his surrender, they were sorely mistaken. 

‘ So you see,’ Carson says, ‘you may as well give it up. There’s nothing left for you.’ 

The words hang in the gloom long enough for Bucky to realise the truth of them. A sharp wave of sickness hits him and his hand tremors. It never used to tremor. Losing Steve feels like losing everything. He tries to remember if Steve has survived anything like this before but his thoughts move too fast and he can’t come up with an answer. The desperation dissipates as it rises, morphing into a tormented hatred for the other man in the room. 

It takes Bucky five steps and less than two seconds to bridge the gap between them and close his hand around Carson’s throat. His eyes widen with panic and Bucky tightens his grip, watching the metal plates shift and slide into place as he presses into the soft flesh. Carson opens and closes his mouth like a fish, his face turning a deep shade of purple. 

Six men enter the room, shouting in a language Bucky can’t translate quickly enough. He lets Carson out of his grip and he falls unconscious to the floor. Bucky pulls a handgun from the suit pocket and makes a mental note to put a bullet through Carson’s head when he gets the chance. Each gunshot reverberates in the chasmic room but the sound hardly reaches him. He moves past each bullet, knowing exactly how these soldiers have been trained, and shoots at the neck of the man nearest to him. The body hits the floor and it takes Bucky seconds to sling a rifle over his shoulder and slip the knife into his pocket. He almost smiles to himself at the familiarity of the fight, but even the movements which feel so natural are driven by a passion which is new and strange. This is more than a mission.

He holds his arm up to block three more shots, the metal humming slightly from the impact. They are all heavily armoured, the only clear points being the neck and the hands. He knows more will be coming. There is very little chance of him winning this fight, but it isn’t about the win. Memories drip like water into his mind and each one brings fresh swells of heartache. Despite the shouting and the bullets, Steve’s voice is clear in his head. It makes him move faster and think sharper. This is for Steve, whether he is alive or not. 

He opens fire, moving towards them until they’re backed against the back wall. The door still gapes open to his right. There is no one else coming yet. The bullets have done nothing but gain him ground and the second he releases the trigger he grabs the man nearest the door in one hand and slams him to the floor with a force that buckles his back. Another of the assailants pushes the barrel of their handgun against Bucky’s neck but the moment of hesitation is all he needs to turn and take the weapon in one hand, using his stronger one to twist the man’s arm behind his back with a sharp cracking noise. He drops the handgun and takes the knife from his pocket, slipping it with a meticulous precision into the neck of the man in his grip. The two remaining soldiers fire at him but he holds the now lifeless body in front of him like a shield, waiting for a moments silence. 

It takes him less than a second to remove the knife, drop the body, and throw the weapon.  It lodges in the back of one of their hands and his own rifles clatters to the floor as he curses in Russian. Before either  men have time to react Bucky is in front of them. He hits the wounded man square in the chest, knowing his strength is enough to send him into the wall behind. The last man stands no chance – he stands rooted to the spot, knowing his fate to be sealed. Bucky snaps his neck in one quick movement, the noise unbearably loud. The screen has only been black for two minutes. 

Silence envelopes him once again. A recognisable pain spasm erupts in his shoulder and the room seems to sway a little. He heads for the door regardless, sweeping a handgun and another knife off the bodies as he leaves. The corridor outside is illuminated every couple of seconds by a red light and a whining siren blares from the walls. The sound of boots hitting the floor jolts Bucky into action and he runs in the opposite direction, turning a corner just before they see him. He passes several other rooms, all with glass walls, but the people inside make no attempt to apprehend him, instead taking action by picking up phones and shouting. The corridors are all long and imposing, each one looking like the last. 

After ten minutes, Bucky feels like his lungs are about to come out of his mouth. Each breath rattles in his chest and the sound seems intrinsically linked to Steve. Flashes of memories jostle for a space in his mind; Steve’s mother, a tiny woman herself, opening the door to find Bucky, barely a day over 14, stood with a pile of scrawled notes he’d copied out at school for Steve; her exhausted smile as she watched Steve grin at Bucky’s attempts to spell ‘necessary’, his shallow breath faltering in a spluttering laugh. The images are almost clear and they nearly stop Bucky in his tracks, though some instinct to survive keeps his feet moving slowly. He tries to focus on the siren and the sound of shouting and the feel of the gun in his arms but his mind is elsewhere. A strange lightness fills his chest despite the pain of exhaustion. It feels like hope. 

He knows he is slower than usual, as well as less efficient, and any fleeting idea of getting out seems even more foolish now. But he knows they won’t kill him, which gives him at least a week left before his body finishes the job itself. A week to endure, to ensure that they never find the rest of the army they’re looking for. A deep-rooted fear creeps up Bucky’s spine and he swallows hard, all too aware of the pain a week with HYDRA can bring. One more week. 

They round the corner at the same time that Bucky turns to face them. There is nothing that can brace him for it, but a steely resolve keeps his head lifted. He owes it to the world to see this out; after so many years with no choice, the ability to withhold information feels enormously important. A sharp scratch alerts him to a slick, silver dart in his arm and the corridor immediately seems to tilt. The sound of his own heartbeat is suddenly deafening and he’s aware of his legs buckling as the masked men reach him. Their movements are rough and for once he is glad to be losing consciousness, though it does nothing to mask the shooting pains coming from his metal shoulder joint. Red light seeps into Bucky’s vision and the ground takes one more lurch forward before he gives in to the blackness. 

****

In the tranquillity of sleep, a recollection seeps in. It is dark in Brooklyn except for the lights pouring out of the bars and the occasional taxi ferrying half-cut lovers halfway across the city. Bucky is drunk. It had been a good week for money and he’d wanted to live a little, though that was always hard with Steve in tow. Steve was a natural woman-repellent and Bucky had spent a lot of time watching him nurse his drink, pointing out girls across the dancefloor who kept looking over at them. Not that he minded; it was always nice to be with Steve, wherever and whatever. 

They’re almost back at their apartment, but the fire escape leading to their front door sways dangerously in his liquid vision. As it is Steve’s shoulder is taking the weight of Bucky’s left side, though it threatens to buckle with every step. 

‘You don’t have to carry me.’ Bucky slurs, but the second he starts to climb the stairs unsupported the world begins to spin, fast. Steve is laughing and the sound grounds him a little. He hopes Steve had a good time. 

It takes them almost ten minutes to get to the apartment and they’re both stifling hysterics by the time they close the door, shoving a building brick against it to stop the rattling of the wind. The moon provides the only light and Bucky manages to slip his shoes and jacket off before collapsing onto the bed, the springs groaning. 

‘You not going to get changed?’ Steve asks. He takes his own shoes off and yawns, a dozy smile playing on his face, ‘you stink of smoke and drink.’ 

Bucky just laughs, knowing that standing back up isn’t an option. The peeling ceiling sways  to and  fro , itself dancing like he had this evening. His braces have already fallen off his shoulders and his shirt  is loose. A strand of dark hair falls across his eyes persistently and he gives up pushing it away. Steve shakes his head in faux disapproval, but he clambers into bed next to him, propping himself up on one arm to look at Bucky. 

‘You look like a mess.’ Steve laughs,

‘I do not -,’ Bucky’s indignation is clearly fake, ‘- clearly good enough to get you to come home with me.’ 

‘We live together, Buck,’ Steve is unsure if Bucky is actually too drunk to know who he is, 

‘I know, I’m only kidding,’ He pushes Steve gently with one hand, ‘lighten up.’ 

They lie in a comfortable silence for a while. The bed is far too small for them and occasionally their arms collide messily in the middle. Steve’s breathing is loud and Bucky focuses on the rhythm. He is the happiest he has been all evening, even though Katie Morris from the year below had kissed him on the cheek before she left. This is far better than any dance with any girl. The thought feels like it should be shocking, but he smiles to himself in the dark. 

‘I wish it could be us forever.’ Bucky says into the darkness. He knows from Steve’s breathing that he isn’t asleep. The words feel a little like contraband. 

‘What do you mean?’ Steve turns his head to meet his eyes and a rush of heat hits Bucky. He knows he is drunk, but this doesn’t feel like the drink talking. 

‘You and me.’ He pauses, ‘I don’t want anyone else. Ever.’ 

Steve is laughing and Bucky knows to hide the hurt on his face. Maybe it is the drink talking. 

‘I’m serious!’ Bucky laughs too, but he  isn't sure it’s real, ‘I don’t need anyone else.’ 

The laughing dies a little and Steve’s eyes are clouded. Bucky can’t read them. His head feels as though he is underwater. He lets his eyes close, feeling sleep only a few minutes away. 

‘Well,’ Steve sighs, lying back, ‘til the end of the line, right?’ 

Bucky opens one eye and tries to steady his vision. Steve gives him one last pitiful glance before turning over. The room feels suddenly stuffy. Bucky turns over too, letting his eyes close again. 

‘Right.’ He whispers into the pillow, smiling. 

****

The sound of voices force Bucky into reality. It takes a few seconds for the past to catch up with him and a lurch of nausea arises when he remembers everything he has seen. All he can do is have hope that Steve is as strong as he says, though it feels slightly worthless. 

He opens his eyes and winces; a bright light is pointed at him from the ceiling. A familiar cool metal supports his back and every inch of his body seems to be on high alert. Muscle memory. He has laid here before. There is nothing he can do to stop his pulse racing. At least ten people are in the room with them and he recognises Carson’s voice immediately. He scolds himself for forgetting to finish the job – that would never have happened seven months ago. 

Silence falls once they realise his eyes are open. He can’t see much and it seems to be impossible to turn his head. This time, they have taken no chances and he can’t move at all. A layer of sweat begins to form on his back. Only one week, then the sickness will kick in. 

‘Nice try.’ Carson’s voice reaches him before he comes into view. A swelling purple bruise hangs around his neck and Bucky feels a flash of pride. ‘Seems we hit a nerve with Steve Rogers.’ 

Someone says something in a low Russian whisper and the distinctive sound of a machine humming creeps into Bucky’s head. Every hair on his body stands on end. He tells himself that the pain is external, manageable, but the panic grips his heart. He tries pushing his stronger arm against the restraint but there is no movement. 

‘Do you want to tell us where you trained those soldiers now?’ Carson’s face is inches from his own. ‘Or shall we hit a few more nerves first?’ 

Bucky spits the only Russian phrase he can remember; ‘ иди к  черту ’.  _ Go to hell. _

The words do nothing to wipe the smile off Carson’s face. He retreats, signalling to someone elsewhere. They approach, a white coat on as well as a surgical mask. Bucky’s body is shaking uncontrollably as they attach something to his real arm, and then his neck. There are voices of confirmation but he doesn’t hear them; his mind is screaming with terror. He longs for unconsciousness, for somewhere free from fear. Something enters his arm and neck; he can feel something cool and hard under his skin. Then the pain starts. 


	7. Chapter 7

Steve is alive, just. The first conscious feeling he has  seems to outrun him; a thick, lucid torment that slips in and out like liquid. It is a feeling of crushing emptiness; a loss and aguish which is not entirely new. The world creeps back to life, one sound at a time, before he finally blinks his eyes open. His body feels heavy and there are parts so numb he wonders if he’s lost them. Dull pain whispers around but he senses the familiar drowsiness of painkillers in his system. He must be at Stark’s medical facility at the tower; only they have anaesthetic strong enough to affect him. The room around him is painfully white, a harsh contrast to the grey New York skyline out of the window. It is raining. 

Wires trail out of Steve’s body and connect to several machines, each one making a horrifically loud beeping. His vision is slow, taking a moment to catch up whenever he moves his eyes. Something tells him he can’t move his head, but he can see his left arm is clad in white bandages and held up at an awkward angle, as though he’s trying to hug himself. It takes Steve too long to register the other person in the room. 

Natasha is half sitting, half laying on a wooden armchair in the corner of the room. She looks washed out and exhausted, dressed in sweatpants and a vest. A thick, dark line is visible on her arm, a half-healed wound that looks like it really ought to be covered. Steve is unsure how long she’s been here, but as soon as he manages to focus his eyes on her she stands up and comes over to him. Her movement is too fast and he has to blink hard to make the room clear again. His head is clouded, swimming. 

‘Steve,’ Nat’s voice is soft and raspy. She sounds sick, ‘how’s my favourite pensioner?’ 

But he doesn’t know how to answer. Like dripping  water, the memories of Austria are landing on him. The cold and the sound of shooting, the tunnels underground and  Rumlow’s voice and Bucky. Sadness grips him completely; a not too small part of him wishes HYDRA had finished the job. One of the machines beeps louder. Steve’s mouth feels dry.

‘I’m sorry.’ When he speaks, the voice is unfamiliar; more of a croak than words. It stings his throat and he tries to take a deep breath but it feels impossible, like there is no space in his lungs. Nat looks at him with such a deep, unfiltered sympathy that he thinks he might cry. 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’ She puts her hand in Steve’s (the one that isn’t strapped to his chest in plaster) and the warmth is soothing. He feels like a child. ‘I’m sorry he wasn’t there.’ 

The image of Bucky on the screen is prominent in Steve’s mind. The painkillers do nothing to stop the feeling of a knife being dragged through his heart. He has lost him again, allowed the worst to happen to the one person in the world who deserves it the least. Waking up to that realisation seems like a punishment, but one that he deserves. 

‘Is everyone okay?’ He manages to say, tilting his head to look at her. The movement sends his head spinning. 

The door to the room opens behind her. Sam walks in and nearly drops the two tumblers which look suspiciously like they’re holding whiskey, in his hands. Steve can’t contain a smile at the sight of him. He looks completely unscathed. 

‘Well if it isn’t the living dead.’ Sam hands Nat a glass. It has the Stark logo etched into the side. 

‘Can’t get rid of me that easily.’ Steve says, his voice sounding slightly more normal after some use. The words are hollow. He had been ready to go. ‘is that scotch?’ 

Sam raises his eyebrows and takes a sip in response. 

‘You’ve been asleep for days, we had to pass the time somehow.’ Nat says with a smile. Steve feels his face fall, though he isn’t sure if he’s entirely in control of his body yet. 

‘Days?’ He looks from Nat to Sam. They aren’t smiling anymore. ‘How long has it been?’ 

‘Steve when we got you out of the rubble you barely had a pulse, we did what we could on the way back but y-,’ Nat is interrupted,

‘How long?’ 

‘It’s been five days since we landed in Austria.’ Sam takes a long drink after he says it, purposely avoiding Steve’s gaze. 

He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the bed. Five days. That gives them a maximum of two weeks before the poisoning kills Bucky. That is not good enough. Steve clenches his fist, a hot rage clearing his mind a little, though he’s pretty certain he’s only angry at himself. He feels guilty for being in an enormous clean medical room with staff on hand to make sure he’s recovering as quickly as possible. Bucky deserves this. He deserves it far more than Steve. 

‘There’s still time.’ Sam’s voice snaps Steve’s eyes back open. The whiteness of the walls is still dazzling. ‘We’re doing everything we can to find him.’ 

‘Tony hasn’t slept since we got back. Him and Bruce are analysing the transmitter we pulled from the dust with you. They think because there was a live feed, they’ll be able to triangulate the signal and find at least a rough location.’ Nat chimes in, the ice cube in her glass rattling with her hand gestures. ‘I better tell them you’re awake actually.’ 

‘I have already made them aware, Miss Romanoff.’ JARVIS replies from the walls. She thanks him. Sam looks unphased and Steve guesses he’s spent a lot of the week discovering the absolute madness of the tower. 

‘We’ll get him back.’ Sam is unwavering in his certainty, but Steve can’t shake the fear. What if they don’t? What if he fails Bucky again? ‘And I’m glad you’re awake and all but I am starving. Clint and I are going to the new pizza place down the block.’ 

‘Aww,’ Nat coos at Sam’s back as he heads to the door, ‘bird boys date night.’ 

‘Don’t call us that.’ Sam flips her off before shutting the door. Steve tries to laugh but his chest feels like it is crushing itself. 

‘Nearly time for your top up,’ She puts her glass down on the table beside his bed and taps the machine pumping painkillers into his blood. 

‘Go on then, what’s the damage,’ He closes his eyes as Nat reels off the list of injuries;

‘Shattered collarbone, one collapsed lung, broken arm, three broken ribs, a small internal bleed in the chest, dislocated knee, a serious wound on the thigh, a broken ankle, a black eye and a mild concussion.’ She smiles at his disbelief. He has been through some wars, sustained some injuries that have rendered him out of action for a day or two, but this is extensive. 

‘Wow. Fair play to them.’ He laughs but it is obviously fake, ‘I need to help look-,’ 

‘You need to get better. Your body is doing its best at the superfast healing thing but you need to let it rest.’ Steve knows she is right. He tries to move, to get up, but a sharp pain in his leg breaks through the wall of the anaesthetic and he slumps back out of breath. ‘I’ll come check on you in a bit.’ 

And he is alone again. It isn’t long before a woman with dark hair and a gentle smile comes in and checks every machine twice. She speaks to him but he doesn’t really hear her. His mind is far away, suffocating itself with endless replays of all the times he has been left without Bucky. Somewhere between the woman leaving and the grey drizzle becoming black, he slips back into unconsciousness. 

****

Steve awakes intermittently over the next 24 hours, each time the savage anxiety hitting him faster and harder. The periods of sleep are full of nightmares; wicked conspiracies about what is happening to Bucky while Steve is cared for round the clock. A few times the nurses jolt him awake because he is shouting. 

The sun is setting when he is woken up by a hard ache in his left arm. He finds two women and one man in the room, none of whom he recognises. They take the cast off his arm with such care that it irritates him; medics never gave a second thought to discomfort in the war. They ask him to move it and he does. It doesn't hurt. They seem contented and leave silently. Tony slips into the room as they bustle out, thanking them overzealously. He looks as tired as Steve feels. Thick dark rings hang under his eyes and Steve is sure he looks thinner. He had thought Romanoff had been  exaggerating when she said Tony hadn’t slept since they got back. Now he’s not so sure. 

‘Tony,’ Steve braces himself for a torrent of sarcastic abuse about how stupid he’s been. It doesn’t come. 

‘My God, you’ve looked better. I’m glad you’re alive but my god you look terrible. It’s kind of nice actually, you’re finally not the prettiest in the room. Must be humbling.’ Steve is used to Tony talking ridiculously fast. He’s often wondered exactly how much caffeine is actually in his body at any one time. 

‘Don’t get used to it.’ Steve smiles wryly. He doesn’t know exactly how to act; Tony was the one who refused to leave Austria without him. He’d been the one to stay behind and look for anything that would give them half a clue of where Bucky was, flying back solo and immediately arranging Steve the best care he could get. There is too much to thank him for. ‘Tony I-,’ 

‘Nope, I’m going first. I’m holding too much information in my head to tell you and I’m too tired to wait until you’ve finished thanking me for being the best friend you could ask for or whatever. We’ll do it later.’ Steve shifts himself up a little more as Tony speaks, slightly grateful to be  interrupted . 

‘I’m sure Romanoff or one of the other ones that seems to be living here rent free has told you that Banner and I have been dismantling a HYDRA transmitter.’ He presses something on a watch and a large translucent image appears in thin air. The machine it shows is alien to Steve. ‘While they weren’t stupid enough to not encrypt the whereabouts of the transmission, they  _ were  _ stupid enough to forget that it was going to be me looking at it.’ 

Steve stares at him blankly. Too often Tony speaks and he only understands a quarter of what he’s trying to say. 

‘I won’t bore you with the details of my genius, but basically there’s only three possible places that they received the live images from.’ Tony waves his hand at the blue shape hovering between them and it changes, three models of tiny landscapes appearing. ‘Could be Greece, tiny island practically unclaimed, seems a little exotic but anything is possible. Other one is Greenland. Certainly cold enough but aerial scans of the coordinates show no signs of movement in the last month.’ 

The two landscapes disappear, leaving only one. Steve’s forehead furrows. 

‘Which brings us to this one. Chile. Middle of nowhere, no roads around, only mountains. About a 12 hour flight in one of their jets. A little hot considering they seem to have spent most of their  culthood in the Alps, but otherwise it’s a perfect fit.’ Tony gets rid of the image and waits for Steve’s applause. 

Steve is still processing the information, half of his brain still trying to work out why Tony is helping find Bucky at all. The possibility of a location, and one that isn’t almost certainly a trap, causing something to bubble in his chest. If he can get to Bucky within the week, he can save him. 

‘You really think he’s in Chile?’ Steve asks after a moment, doing very little to hide his hope,

‘I’m 90% sure. But obviously that isn’t enough, so Barton and Wilson have gone on a road trip to get a clear aerial view, see if there’s any signs of big bad Nazi movement. If there is, we meet them there as soon as possible.’ At this Steve closes his eyes. He is completely and utterly indebted to this ragtag family, possibly forever. The gratitude makes his shoulders sag. 

‘I don’t know what to say.’ His voice is small. Tony’s smile is genuine. 

‘You can thank us by not almost dying again, please. I only have enough elephant tranquilisers to keep you sedated for another 41 hours.’ It’s sarcastic but heartfelt. He sighs, his shoulders shrugging. ‘I know it sucks when someone you love is hurting, and it’s so much worse when they’re out of your reach. I thought I lost Pepper and that was enough to tear me apart.’ 

Tony pauses, wrenching his eyes off the skyline to look at Steve. 

‘I know you and I have had our differences, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be there. And if someone who means as much to you as Barnes does needs a hero, I’m damn well  gonna try my best. Same way  you would for me.’ 

The words hang in the room for a while after he finishes talking. Both of their eyes are misty, though there is an unspoken agreement between them not to cry. Steve has never spoken to Tony about Pepper – or any of their actual lives aside from the job – before. Maybe he was foolish to think he didn’t have a heart, or maybe that’s just a side effect of seeing enough destruction to last several lifetimes. You forget people have hearts and feelings and things to prove. Steve swallows a lump in his throat. 

‘Thank you.’ The words are too small. ‘For everything.’ 

‘Where would you all be without me?’ Tony stands, breaking the vulnerability of the room. He heads towards the door, words spilling from his mouth; ‘Now if you don’t  mind I’m going to sleep for a very long time. Or at least until the bird brothers get back. I’ll let you know if we’re going on a South American road trip as soon as I know.’ 

Steve’s heart begins pounding the second he is alone. Excitement and fear and something which feels a bit like free falling all jostle around in his stomach. The words  _ someone you love  _ replay themselves like a stuck record and Steve can’t quite work out why.  Of course he loves Bucky, but even that seems different, as though the feeling has been amplified. He doesn’t understand why the thought of seeing him again feels like panic - a kind of panic that isn’t altogether scary. 

No one else comes for the rest of the day and Steve welcomes sleep, somehow knowing that the nightmares won’t come. And they don’t. He dreams in memories though, his subconscious snagging itself on the night before the train. 

If Steve had thought it was cold in New York in January, Austria was another level of freezing. The snow didn’t move under their boots, the surface frozen over like an ice rink. They’d settled down for the night the other side of the cliff, making sure they couldn’t be seen. It was so dark that the stars had their own stage for the night and shone twice as bright as Steve had ever seen them. 

Ever since Steve had found him in Zola’s lab, Bucky had been having nightmares. The rest of the men pretended not to notice, never saying a word about it, but they couldn’t not hear the shouts that came from their tent most nights. Steve never asked Bucky what had happened in that room. He figured that if he wanted to talk about, he would. Or maybe Steve just didn’t want to picture it. Either way, it remained a horrible mystery. 

That night, Steve jolted Bucky awake before the screaming started. He’d learnt the warning signs; the shallow, shaking breaths, the kicking. Bucky said nothing, but turned on his side to face Steve. His hair was sticky with sweat despite the sub-zero temperature and it fell into his eyes. In the starlight, he looked shadowy and small. It still made Steve feel a bit like he was dreaming whenever his size was prevalent. He still remembered when Bucky first came home from training far bulkier than when he left. Steve had said nothing, but he watched with a mixture of envy and awe whenever Bucky had stood on their fire escape with a cigarette that summer, the muscles on his back shadowing his skin like never before. 

‘You okay?’ Steve whispered, turning to face him. The cold didn’t touch him like it used to, but he still pulled the wiry blanket further up. It barely covered two thirds of his body. 

‘I thought I was  gonna die in there,’ Bucky’s voice was gritty and low. His breath was visible in the gloom, ‘I thought I had died, when I saw you.’ 

Steve smiled but it felt tight; the idea that he could ever be someone’s heaven was peculiar. It didn’t sit comfortably. Bucky shifted a little closer to him, their clothes rustled a little too loudly in the snowy silence. 

‘Hey,’ he put a hand on Bucky’s arm and felt the body heat rise up through the layers of cloth, ‘I was never going to let that happen, you know that.’ 

Bucky smiled feebly. He looked like a kid, wrapped in blankets and curled in on himself. After a moment, he reached his hand out from underneath himself and silently interlaced their fingers together. The contact of skin was unusual, but Steve relished the warmth and the pressure. He moved his thumb, tracing circles on Bucky’s palm. All the years they had huddled together in their apartment, and yet this was by far the most intimate of interactions. Steve had to remind himself to breathe, his chest feeling  suddenly hot and tight. 

‘I’m glad I’m here with you, Steve.’ Bucky said. Their faces were so close Steve could feel the words on his skin, ‘there’s no one else I’d rather risk my life beside.’ 

‘There’s no one else stupid enough to,’ Steve laughed to stop Bucky talking. If he spoke one more word, Steve felt like his heart was going to explode. Bucky laughed too and brushed hair out of his eyes. The starlight, muted by the tent, lit up every angle of his face. Steve wasn’t sure how many times he’d drawn Bucky back home, but he was fairly certain he had never looked like that before. 

They lay together for a while, their eyes too afraid that looking anywhere but in each other’s would make the sun rise. At some point, though, sleep set in. When Steve woke up, his hand was cold and empty. Bucky faced away from him, his shoulders rising and falling with every sleepy breath. Steve chided his own disappointment. 

Three hours later, Bucky had fallen. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone/anyone indulging me by reading this! It means the world to me. I have tagged graphic violence as I know that this chapter could be potentially upsetting for some people. Enjoy x

Time has become elusive. Bucky no longer sees outside, so the days run into one long nightmare. When he is awake, it is hell. When his body gives up and allows unconsciousness, it feels short-lived and unsatisfactory. The pain is constant. Whatever implants they have put under his skin release what feels like electricity through his nervous system, every receptor in his body screaming at once. Even when they are not active, his muscles twitch unnaturally now as though anticipating the sensation. Bucky has endured worse, though, and HYDRA know that.

The periods of rest are getting shorter. He is pulled out of the safety of oblivion with injections which force adrenalin into his system. They half carry, half drag him to a room which seems brighter and whiter every time. Then it starts. Carson always does the talking, his voice somehow managing to cut through the noise in Bucky’s head, every part of his brain telling him to make it stop. It doesn’t stop until he blacks out, his body shuddering into a protective sleep. Sometimes he hears himself screaming, the noise distant and unattached. Sometimes he clenches his fist so hard that he feels his own fingers break. Everything is noise and pain, but he won’t give in. 

Bucky does remember where the other soldiers are. In a rare moment of conscious quiet it had revealed itself like an animal coming out of a cave. Romania.  Some time in the early 2000s – he remembers hushed whispers about a catastrophe in New York, something which pushed the world towards chaos. He remembers swathes of people looking identical, each one with their eyes on him. Remembering feels dangerous. Keeping his mouth shut was easier when he didn’t know the answers to Carson’s questions – now it is up to him to keep quiet. 

The constant barrage of electricity in his system seems to be accelerating the sickness. He vomits often, a thick, pale green bile which tastes metallic. They stop when he does, watch him beg for water for several moments, before carrying on. His breath tastes like death. Bucky’s vision is worsening, too. A dark shadow rings everything and his eyes struggle to keep up with movements, instead tilting and turning the world to try and make sense of it. He is sure it can only have been days, but he longs for an end. Every time consciousness sets back in his heart sinks. It is about time he stopped waking up. 

****

The day after Tony visits him, Steve is allowed up. The nurses steady him and give him a loose pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to change into. The second he raises his arm above his head a sharp pain shoots down his arm and he has to pause for breath. An impressive bruise leaks purple across his collarbone and chest, he thinks it looks almost pretty, but the medical staff frown as if it isn’t doing what it is told. 

They follow Steve to a gym on the same floor – one of the only ones he has never used before. They monitor him through a wristband, but he doesn’t need them to tell him he isn’t at full strength; Within ten minutes on the treadmill, each breath is laboured and his chest feels tight. He doesn’t stop, determined to push through the pain, to prove that he is okay, that he can help find Bucky. His leg buckles, though, and he is forced off the machine. Sinking to the floor, Steve fights back tears of shame. He takes the wristband off and gives it back to the nurse,

‘We’ll give you some time, Captain Rogers,’ She says warmly, ushering the team out and back to the main facility. 

Steve rests his back against the glass wall, his head dropping between his knees. He feels weak and tired and it frustrates him; how is he meant to lead them all to Chile when he can’t even run for fifteen minutes? He has to be better than this. There’s a noise on the other side of the room and Steve looks up to find Natasha walking towards him. His heart sinks – she's dressed for a fight. 

‘Steve,’ She looks taken aback at the sight of him on the floor, curled into a corner. He forgets they never saw him small sometimes, ‘I came to tell you th-,’

‘They found it?’ Steve resists the urge to say him. Nat nods and sits sideways on one of the rowing machines, her feet a metre away from his. 

‘I spoke to the  doctors, they don’t think you’re fit enough to go.’ She studies his face for a reaction. He doesn’t lift his eyes off the ground. 

‘They’re right, I’m not.’ Steve forces himself to breathe, ‘it’s up to the rest of you I’m afraid.’ 

‘We’ll be fine.’ She smiles at him and she means what she says. Steve has no doubt they’ll be fine, Tony alone could probably take on a small country and win. It isn’t the fight he’s worried about missing out on. ‘Steve you don’t have to pretend anymore.’ 

The sentence catches him off guard and he  snaps his head up to look at her properly. His shoulders feel suddenly tense, as though she’s just told him there’s a sniper trained on his heart. Something catches on his tongue, words which he can’t say to her. To anyone, maybe.

‘What do you mean?’ He tries instead. She stands up, sighing as though he’s being a difficult child, and slides down the wall next to him, tucking her legs under her chin. She looks straight ahead as she talks;

‘When I first joined  SHIELD I didn’t tell anyone anything. I thought that what I didn’t say wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt me anymore. I thought I was untouchable. But everything I didn’t say sat inside me, rotting. When I finally let it all out in Washington, I thought I’d feel awful; scared of the past and what admitting it might do to me. But I didn’t. I felt free. I felt closer to everyone, like I didn’t have to pretend anymore.’ 

A strand of red hair covers her eyes but Steve is sure she’s crying. He feels close to it himself. He never read the files released on Natasha when SHIELD was exposed; he’d figured if she’d wanted him to know that stuff, she would tell him. 

‘You don’t have to always be the big strong guy,’ She turns to face him, green eyes glistening, ‘it’s not a weakness to be in love, or to be angry and hurt. It makes you human.’ 

A weight crashes down on Steve like a tsunami and his pulse rises, a hot panic making him sweat. It feels crushing, a realisation that he has forced out of the way for so long. So many things fall into place and even more fall out. He is in love, that’s the feeling in the pit of his stomach that feels so similar to free falling. That’s why every memory of Bucky appears in a golden light, as though it were happening too close to the sun. It seems almost laughable that Natasha would realise before him. But isn’t everything he does for Bucky? Isn’t he always the first thing on Steve’s mind? Even when he thought Bucky was dead, the memories and nights spent beside him haunted Steve. 

‘I don’t know what to say.’ His throat feels uncomfortably tight as he speaks. 

‘You don’t have to say anything.’ She whispers, and she rests her head on his shoulder. He is in love with Bucky. He has always been in love with Bucky. That’s why their double dates always made his mouth dry up. That’s why he turned away whenever he saw Bucky with a girl, feeling his cheeks hot and pink. That’s why he’d crashed that plane into the ice after Bucky died. That’s why he dropped his shield in Washington. Something which feels like it could be vomit stirs in his gut. They stay like that for a while. Steve breathes through the panic, his brain hurtling through a thousand thoughts a minute. 

‘Besides, you hardly hid it well.’ Natasha says after several minutes, any trace of sympathy gone. He cringes at the thought of her knowing for years, looking at him and knowing what he was. Steve can't shake an undercurrent of shame.

She stands up and looks down at him, offering a hand. He isn’t sure he can carry his own weight, but Steve takes it and steadies himself against the wall. The world seems utterly flipped on its head. He registers the sound of Tony’s footsteps a long way down the corridor and tries desperately to wipe any trace of the conversation off his face. 

‘I’ve never seen two people almost die for each other so many times.’ Nat’s voice is sarcastic but there’s a warmth to it. Steve’s heart pounds. 

‘It’s a good job there’s no time limit on this job Romanoff or – oh wait, there is. And we should’ve left yesterday.’ Tony fills the room. He is already in his Iron Man suit except for the helmet. ‘We’ll miss you Cap, but I’d rather not have to drag your body from another building. Try not to burn down the place. Pepper is in charge – be nice to her.’ 

Steve can’t help but laugh and this time it feels almost genuine. Tony is halfway down the corridor again, still talking. Natasha reaches the door and turns back.

‘We’ll get him back. Don’t worry.’ 

Steve nods and she is gone. He turns and faces the window. The East river is lit up by the midday sun, several boats drifting like birds on the water. In the distance to the right, Steve can just make out Brooklyn Bridge. He smiles to himself. It’s about time they brought Bucky home. 

****

Bucky comes around naturally for once. It feels alien to him to be waking up alone. His hands are above his head, wrists held together by something metallic and incredibly strong which protrudes from the concrete wall. The position makes his shoulder throb with pressure. For the last few times, this is where they’ve forced him out of sleep, and instead of the usual electricity, HYDRA have been far more traditional. A flock of bruises cover his upper body, the result of boots and fists, butts of guns and sticks. It feels old school. It reminds him of the war. 

This time, though, there are no men with steel boots and metal gloves. There is no Carson barking at him. The quiet makes the pain louder and Bucky finds himself instantly breathless. It isn’t silent, though. There’s a rumbling sound in the distance and it travels through the floor. It builds, getting louder and closer, and Bucky is sure it is the sound of bombs. He wonders for a second if he’s dreaming. 

The sound of gunfire the other side of the wall drifts in, though it still sounds like he’s hearing it from underwater. The door opens. It takes Bucky a second to focus on the figure, but he knows he should recognise him. 

‘Oh my god.’ It’s one of Steve’s friends. They’ve met before. Twice. He has wings. ‘I got him. Not looking good though, I’m  gonna need a hand getting him back to the jet.’ 

The man kneels down beside him and Bucky instinctively cringes, before remembering again that he’s a friend of Steve’s. That means he knows if Steve is alive. Bucky forces himself to focus. 

‘Steve,’ His voice is quiet and low. 

‘ No I’m not Steve, I’m Sam. We met before at-,’ But Sam is cut off by another roaring sound. Bucky is sure it is someone  _ actually  _ roaring now, and not the product of bombs. 

Sam uses something which looks like a gun but makes no noise to get Bucky’s hands free. The weight of his arms feels huge with the freedom. He tells himself  its over, but he isn’t quite sure he believes it. 

‘You think you can stand?’ Sam asks him. Bucky isn’t sure, but he nods and gets his legs underneath him. Sam takes a lot of his weight and the human contact feels unsafe. He tells himself again that he is Steve’s friend, though the more he looks at Sam the more he is sure that Sam has tried to kill him before. 

‘Steve.’ Bucky says, louder this time. He needs to know. ‘Is he...’

Sam looks at him like he’s lost his mind for a second, but he realises what Bucky is asking and he smiles a little. That must be good. 

‘He’s alive, he’s back in New York. We get out of here; we get back to him.’ Sam says, half carrying Bucky to the doorway and the corridor. 

Bucky’s heart lifts and for once his chest doesn’t feel like it’s splitting in two. He smiles to himself, feeling the blood dried on his face crack with the movement. 

‘On our way back. Cover us.’ Sam shouts, seemingly to no one. 

Bucky finds the strength to walk from nowhere. Every part of him is in agony with the movement, the jolting of Sam’s shoulder into his chest winds him repeatedly. But Bucky knows what is waiting for him, and it is well worth the pain. Steve will always be worth the pain. 


	9. Chapter 9

Steve is terrible at waiting. He’s never been a patient person and as soon as he hears the jet take off the restlessness kicks in. He spends an hour longer in the gym, but the pain only reminds him of the situation at hand and how once again it’s his friends who have come to his aid. The nurse he first saw is waiting for him when he gets back to the medical room. She has small, tired eyes and a smile which is wearing thin. 

‘We’ve agreed you are okay to stay at your apartment in the tower from now on.’ She refers to a set of notes on a touchscreen pad in her arms, ‘we will still need to monitor your recovery, so we’ll ask you to do certain training exercises every day to ensure you’re getting your fitness back up.’ 

Steve thanks her, glad of somewhere else to go and something else to do; the apartment was a mess when he left it a few weeks ago. He is sure he can prolong an effort to tidy the place up for at least a few hours. When he gets there, though, the apartment is spotless. Of course Tony (or more likely, Pepper) would have someone clean it before he came back. Frustration rises in him, followed by a guilt for the former feeling. All he wants is to forget what he’s waiting for, just long enough to stop his stomach doing somersaults. 

He wanders aimlessly through the rooms. Tony had tried to fit the place out to suit Steve; assorted vintage memorabilia lined the pristine shelves of every room. It had made him smile, how much thought had gone into the layout and furniture, but now it seemed shallow. The apartment feels nothing like home. Perhaps it’s the smell of fresh paint that lingers, or the dozen dials on the shower for every possible water pressure combination under the sun, or the fact that there is no draught coming in through cracked windows. Everything is too comfortable. He feels worlds away from home. 

Steve stops when he reaches the second bedroom. He’s never really spent much time in there; Sam stays there sometimes but it is almost always empty. A box sits on the double bed now, though. It is white plastic, a black ‘A’ stamped on each side, distinctly recognisable. Steve frowns as he peers into it. It takes him a second to work out that the box is housing Bucky’s belongings. Someone must have collected them from the flat he’d been staying in once Steve left.

The collection of objects is small and it breaks Steve’s heart to see how little actually belongs to Bucky. There is a backpack with its zip open, mouth gaping to show nothing except a set of clothes; black, but covered in patches of grey dirt. A set of keys, including one which Steve is certain is for a bike, a black wallet and a shoulder holster with no gun are amongst the rest of the collection. And then Steve lands on the notebook. The leather of the cover flakes a little in his hands. He knows he can’t look inside; he knows Bucky deserves privacy, to have his thoughts be his own, not handled by anyone and that includes Steve. 

As he goes to put the notebook back, though, something moves inside it and threatens to fall out. Steve pulls a little on the edge and two photos slide out from within the pages. His breath catches in his throat. They’re both of Steve. One of them is fairly new and he is sure it’s a copy of the ones they sell in gift shops, his signature copied onto the corner of the postcard showing him in his most recent uniform. The other photo is much older, the edges of the paper fraying and cracking a little with age. He recognises it too, though it is definitely no longer in circulation. It’s a picture from 1945 of Steve in his dark green military uniform, his hair neat and his jaw set. He knows it was taken about a week after Bucky had fallen – he remembers the flash of the bulb and the gruesome sadness in his heart. 

He turns each photo over, careful not to mark them with his fingerprints. To his surprise, there is something written on the back of the older one in laboured, childish handwriting. Steve can just about make out his name. Except it doesn’t say  _ Steve  _ it says  _ Stevie.  _ His heart thuds. No one has called him Stevie in almost a century. Bucky used to wind him up with it; Steve always thought it was far too girly, but Bucky insisted on calling him it even when they were in public. He had stopped after the serum, Steve’s new body clearly no longer suiting the pet name. Steve had forgotten all about it until now. 

A smile creeps onto his face at the idea of Bucky remembering them bickering over it. He has no idea what to expect upon his return; whether Bucky will remember more or less than before. Steve tries over and over again to imagine telling him he loves him, forcing himself to picture the words leaving his mouth. Just thinking about it makes his palms sweat. Maybe it is a secret best kept to himself; something to wonder about but never act on. His mind flashes to the night before Bucky fell, the feeling of their hands pressed together, their breath combining in the inches between their mouths. Goosebumps prickle Steve’s arms. He puts the notebook back in the box.

****

The hours pass as slowly as expected. Steve seeks out Pepper after a while and he sits with her, talking and eating and trying desperately not to talk about Bucky, until she politely excuses herself to go to bed. The sun rises while Steve is in the gym, burning off energy he doesn’t have just to feel something aside from anxiety, even if it is the dull ache of an injury. He showers and catches sight of himself in the mirror, a dark shadow of stubble making him look dirty and tired. He does nothing to fix it, but sits staring at the skyline as though it might speed up the clock. 

‘Captain Rogers,’ JARVIS breaks Steve’s trance and he stands up instantly, ‘I thought you might like to know that your friends are set to land in 5 minutes on the roof.’

Steve is already on his way, beads of sweat forming down his spine. He is sure he’s prepared for whatever state Bucky is in; he’s spent the last agonising hours readying himself. JARVIS carries on talking,

‘A team of medical staff are waiting, Miss Potts has called in several specialist doctors who arrived earlier this morning.’ 

Steve grimaces in the elevator. Specialist medical staff can’t be a good sign. He is momentarily angry at not  being kept in the loop, but he knows it is probably for the best. Ignorance is bliss, especially when there is nothing he can do to help. 

The winter sun is surprisingly warm and the roof feels like a greenhouse despite the fresh air. Pepper is already there, talking to several men who look slightly star struck. It isn’t often that they call in outside medical help, to be fair. The standard team at the tower are more than capable of absolving the various injuries sustained over the last few years. She smiles at Steve when she sees him. He nods, grateful that she isn’t trying to talk to him. His mouth feels utterly dry. 

Steve hears the approaching jet before anyone else and it has barely landed when he reaches the door, his heartbeat deafening him. Clint greets him first, halfway out of the jet. He looks tired but, except for a sharp scratch on his left cheek, unscathed. 

‘Nice of you to make an appearance Cap,’ His face is deadpan for a second before he smiles. He pulls Steve into a half hug, ‘don’t get angry when you see him.’ 

Steve already feels a deep-rooted fury rising. He holds Clint’s gaze and nods, thanking him for the warning. A few of the medics have already entered, their voices rising up and echoing around the metal. He takes one last swallow of air before walking further in. Tony reaches Steve just as Steve catches sight of Bucky. 

‘ Steve I know you want to see him but I’m really not sure...’ Tony carries on talking but the words just bounce around Steve. He feels something in him drop, his jaw trembling. Waves of panic contract his muscles and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Bucky is conscious, though only just. In one of the passenger seats big enough for Thor, he looks tiny. His skin is void of any pigment, the only colour coming from dark blood stains on his face and arm. They’ve given him one of the spare t-shirts they keep on the jet, but it hangs off him and the metal arm is disproportionately large to the rest of his body now. Thick grey rings hang under his eyes. He wonders, perhaps selfishly, if this is how Bucky used to feel when he patched up Steve’s wounds as kids.

Steve steps around Tony, who himself is fairly worse for wear, a distinct limp going unnoticed by Steve. Bruce is on the right of Bucky, talking rapidly to one of the doctors. Sam and Natasha are on the other side. Sam has one arm in a makeshift sling and is sporting a fairly nasty bruise under his left eye. Natasha looks as though she’s just been out to lunch. Both of their eyes are trained on Steve. 

Bucky’s eyes are open but they don’t appear to be seeing anything until Steve is in front of him. Steve’s jaw is set, but the anger melts into a hopeless sadness when he meets his eyes, crouching down slightly beside the chair. Natasha rests her hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

‘Steve,’ Bucky half whispers. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards and Steve feels his eyes fill with tears. A dull hush falls in the jet, the doctors pausing in their business. ‘I thought you were dead.’ 

Sam exhales behind Steve. Natasha squeezes his shoulder a little. He goes to take Bucky’s hand, to circle his thumb on his palm and will him to remember, but the palm is bloody and several of his fingers are bent at an awkward angle. The flame of anger inside him flickers. 

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ Steve’s voice is so quiet. He is speaking only to Bucky and there’s every chance that even he didn’t hear him, but his mouth moves into a half smile just long enough for Steve to see. Steve straightens up and meets Bruce’s eye. He looks worried.

‘Let them do their job, Steve.’ Natasha says in his ear, sensing the fierce protectiveness in Steve’s stance. He trusts them, of course, but he also never wants to leave Bucky’s side ever again. He gives Bruce a nod, though, which is returned by a slightly relieved smile. 

Steve watches as the team of at least twenty manoeuvre Bucky into a wheelchair with surprising ease and take him out of sight. The second he is  gone, Steve lets the tears fall. He feels completely hopeless. Unable to find anything to say that articulates the wrenching heartache reverberating in his chest, he cries. It is ugly and undignified and Steve knows this, but all the fight in him to stave off the sadness is gone.

He sits in the chair Bucky had spent the last 12 hours in, his head in his hands, the tears falling straight into his palms. One by one, his friends surround him. Clint sits on his haunches in front of him, a hand on his forearm. Bruce half perches on one of the arms, his head bowed. Tony breaks away from Pepper and limps over.

‘I’m sorry, Cap.’ He says, though he’s not sure it gets through to Steve. His whole body shakes with the sadness. 

Sam puts his able hand on Steve’s shoulder, a sign of solidarity as much as comfort. Nat sits on the floor at his feet, her head resting on his knee. And they stay like that until Steve stops crying. 

‘Come on,’ Sam is the first to break the familial silence. Steve drags his head from his hands and looks at him, his eyes stinging and puffy, ‘let’s go get a drink.’ 

****

Bucky isn’t panicking until they put the needle in his arm. The sensation is too familiar, the memory too recent, and he feels his heart rate kick up a gear. He tells himself he is safe over and over again but the more he looks at all the strange faces and white walls and machines, the more uneasy he becomes. But he’s shattered, in every sense of the word, and the panic which usually keeps him on high alert is just background noise. 

The pain melts away all at once after a minute or so and Bucky feels his body slump at the relief. The burning in his chest stays, though. One of the doctors asks him something but he doesn’t quite understand the question, so he stays silent, his eyes trained on the wall behind the man’s head. To Bucky’s surprise, the man smiles and walks away to the other side of the vast room. It looks half hospital and half laboratory. 

‘Sergeant Barnes,’ There’s a woman to his right now, she’s holding something Bucky can’t quite make out. ‘We need to put you under to run some tests and start getting some of the chemicals out of your system.’ 

‘Under?’ He manages to repeat, though his mouth is suddenly dry. 

‘It won’t be for long, just an hour or so.’ She smiles. 

Bucky’s mind races. The machine to his left beeps more and more obnoxiously. He instinctively searches the room for a way out, something to bide him some time, and his eyes land on the door opening to a corridor. Steve walks in, filling the room a little more. He is followed by Bruce and Bucky trusts him; Steve may be impulsive as all hell, but he knows how to pick friends. Bucky knows that. 

He tries to swallow the mounting fear, determined not to worry Steve any more than he already has. It clearly doesn’t work; the second Steve’s eyes find Bucky he crosses the room and stands beside the woman, who by now looks more than a little concerned. 

‘Hey.’ Steve says. His voice acts like a second painkiller – Bucky takes a deep breath.

‘Hey.’ Bucky watches for a second as Steve reaches a hand towards his own and then pulls it away. ‘They want to put me under.’ 

Bucky’s voice falters and the words sound strange. He grabs hold of the inside of his bottom lip with his teeth. Steve holds his gaze for a moment and the noises around them seem to drop away; The sensation feels unnatural. The way everything seems slightly brighter when Steve is around baffles him, but he’s got a feeling it isn’t new. Life has always been better with Steve. 

‘It’s okay, no one’s going to hurt you here.’ Steve’s words are shaking, ‘I’ll be right here for the whole thing.’ 

Steve reaches out his hand and this time, he takes Bucky’s upturned palm in his fingers. The touch is so gentle it could almost be imaginary. He runs his thumb in tiny soft circles on Bucky’s skin and the machine beside them slows its incessant beeping with his heartrate. 

‘You’ll be here when I wake up?’ Bucky glances between the doctor and Steve. 

‘I’ll always be here from now on.’ Steve says. He looks different from how Bucky imagined him. His hair is a little too long and he hasn’t shaved; it makes him look older. There are a few wilting bruises peeking out from under his shirt, too, and it cripples Bucky with guilt. He swallows and focuses on the pressure in his hand. Steve’s skin on his. 

‘I promise.’ Steve manages a smile as he speaks. 

Bucky meets the woman’s eye and nods his consent. He’s never had to do that before and it makes him feel slightly less anxious. A second needle shifts into his skin and he grits his teeth as a reflex, though it doesn’t hurt. Steve tells him to close his eyes and he does. 

As the noises fade around him, Bucky remembers the circles on his palm. The night in Austria. The freezing ground making his bones hurt. Sleep being less of a rest than consciousness and Steve’s hand finding his. Rings on his hand and Steve’s eyes so bright in the dark. He remembers the taste of the air between them and wondering – just wondering – what would happen if he leant across and kissed Steve. 

He remembers waking up and wondering if Steve knew he’d thought that. Then he remembers falling. Then it all goes dark. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading twice in three days is a rarity but I feel like treating y'all. I literally live for all your lovely opinions and feedback - thank you so much for sticking with it!

The first time Bucky wakes up is the worst. He instantly lashes out, wires tangling and monitors screeching in protest, and it isn’t until Steve forces Bucky to focus on nothing but him that he lets his shoulders relax a little. Contact between them seems to be the best way to avoid panic attacks and Steve is absolutely fine with that. If he had it is his way, they’d do all their testing and fixing while Bucky lay in his arms, safe and warm. 

The second time he goes under, almost  twenty-four hours after the first time, it is to remove the arm. Steve has only left his side to go to the bathroom, though often when Bucky sleeps, he finds himself drifting off in the chair beside him. Sam brings him a paper bag from the deli down the street. His forearm is in a proper cast now and two stitches sit neatly above his eyebrow. Bruce tries his best to explain why the operation to be done so quickly, but Steve doesn’t really understand and he nods out of habit rather than cognition. 

Tony comes and goes, buzzing with an energy Steve can only envy. There’s no way it isn’t caffeine induced. He shows Bucky plans for a new prosthetic and it is the first time Bucky really shows an interest in anything. 

‘I can choose?’ Tony has put a tablet screen in front of Bucky and his eyes are wide. There’s a hint of colour to his face, a result of the various vitamins and nutrients the doctors keep administering. 

‘You can.’ Tony smiles. He spends a long time walking through the designs with Bucky and Steve listens with one ear, half in an exhausted daze. 

‘What’s your name?’ Bucky says after a while. Steve sits up. His shoulder is throbbing again. 

‘Tony Stark, the one and only.’ There is a flicker of recognition on Bucky’s face but his expression falls. His eyes seem dark, lost in a memory. 

‘I knew your father.’ Bucky looks to Steve, confusion visible on his face. Steve is about to politely tell Bucky that he didn’t just  _ know  _ Howard Stark but he was mildly fanatic over the man. He’d read every interview in every magazine, watched TV sets through shop windows showing his work. But Bucky starts coughing, a rattling in his lungs causing several shooting looks of concern around the room. 

They decide there is no time to lose and this time when Bucky goes under, Steve isn’t sure he can watch. His stomach churns in protest and his eyes are desperate to close. The female doctor from his own stint in the hospital bed approaches and asks him to let them run their tests on him. It breaks his heart to leave Bucky, but he promises himself to get back before they wake him up. 

The tests are brutal. He manages even less of a run than before and bright white spots appear in his vision as his chest tightens. They check his collarbone and confirm it’s set, though the bruising is still severe. 

‘You need to take care of yourself, Captain Rogers.’ The woman says over his shallow breathing. She isn’t smiling anymore. ‘You need to sleep and eat and let yourself recover.’ 

‘I can’t leave him.’ Steve replies and he doesn’t need to clarify who he’s talking about. They all know. He blushes a little at the thought of everyone knowing what he is; how he feels. Maybe they wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe he is as obvious as everyone says. 

‘We expect this will take at least three hours, if not longer.’ The woman folds her arms. Steve feels oddly like he’s being told off at school. ‘Go and rest. We’ll send someone to get you before we wake him up.’ 

Steve concedes, the growling of his stomach and aching of is body wins out against a deep guilt. He is glad to be alone once he reaches his apartment; there are only so many  sympathy looks a man can stand. He isn’t the one that needs sympathy. Steve doesn’t make it to the bed once he sees the couch. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

****

‘Steve,’ Natasha nudges his foot with her own, ‘Steve. Get up.’ 

He feels marginally more human after the few hours rest. Nat stands over him, a pizza box in hand. That rouses him to sit him up; his stomach feels like it might have started eating itself. She smiles and hands it to him. 

‘How you feeling?’ She sits on the coffee table, folding one leg over the other. Steve eats for a while before replying. 

‘Better.’ It isn’t a lie. He sighs, though, knowing he can’t get away with that answer with Nat. ‘I just – I hate not knowing what’s going to happen. I know I can’t be angry at him and I’m not. I just wish I knew what he was thinking – what he remembers and feels.’ 

Natasha watches him in silence. She waits until he has finished before responding.

‘Then ask him.’ 

‘What?’ Steve half laughs, 

‘Ask him. He isn’t an animal. You can talk to him; he’d probably appreciate it.’ She stands up, leaving Steve with his mouth hanging a little open. He knows she’s right. He knows, though, that he’s scared of finding out what’s in Bucky’s head; that by not knowing, he is saving himself from the pain. 

‘Just don’t push him. Recovery is long and hard and there’ll be good days and bad days.’ Nat’s eyes are misty as she talks. ‘But he’ll need a friend. He’ll need to be loved.’ 

She looks at the floor and clears her throat. Steve stands to meet her. If there is one  thing he can give Bucky, it’s love. And that’s a small comfort to the anguish mounting in his heart. 

‘Thank you.’ Steve says as they walk towards the door. She nudges his arm slightly, flicks a strand of hair out of her face and swallows. Any sadness in her eyes is gone and Steve is reminded of how good she is at her job.

‘Tony wants your permission to put the new prosthetic on.’ Nat says as they walk, ‘he knows it wasn’t meant to be today, but it’s ready and they’d rather not have to do another round of anaesthetic tomorrow given his reaction to it.’ 

Steve stays silent and when they reach the glass room, he tells Tony and Bruce to do whatever they need to. It’s about time he started trusting his friends more.

****

For a split second, Bucky is back in hell. It takes less time than before for him to realise he is safe; the weight of Steve’s hand in his own and the softness of the bed beneath him stop the unease from creeping in. The burning in his chest is gone, though there’s a new dull ache in his shoulder. He focuses his eyes there and feels them widen in surprise. 

‘What do you think?’ Steve asks. He looks brighter than before and he is flanked by several of his friends. Tony grins and Bucky attempts a smile back, though his face still feels numb. 

‘Thank you.’ He says and Tony bows his head a little. The new arm is incredible; slick and black and no longer painful. Bucky tries to move it and the response is slow at first, a little achy. 

‘It might take some time to get used to,’ Tony says. He sounds like his father. ‘Let me know if there’s any problems. Or anything you want improving. Or if you want a paint job for it.’ 

Tony puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear before disappearing, smiling once more at Bucky. Bruce takes his place. 

‘You should be on the mend from now on.’ Bucky watches Steve’s eyes crease in a smile. His heart feels lighter. ‘But we’ll keep you  monitored just to be safe.’ 

Bucky doesn’t know whether to thank him, but before he can Bruce is gone, slipping back into the mass of white coats studying screens and monitors frantically. He’s still processing the information anyway. He isn’t dying. He’s alive and safe and not dying and Steve is here beside him. The whole thing feels like a dream. Bucky’s eyes are watering and for the first time in god knows how long, he doesn’t try and stop them. 

‘It’s  gonna be okay Buck,’ Steve looks concerned and he exchanges a look with Romanoff beside him. Bucky remembers her. She wouldn’t die. She is like him. 

‘I know.’ Bucky half whispers, afraid that saying the words will make them false. It doesn’t. He does know. He closes his eyes and even the dizziness doesn’t faze him. He feels almost human.

****

The hours come and go after he wakes up. A lot of the time, Bucky sleeps. He dreams in memories that he’s seen before. Some of them are of Brooklyn and Steve and a happiness which seems distant. Others are painful and bloody and leave him with a thin layer of cold sweat on his back. 

Steve doesn’t leave his side, but Bucky watches him sleep too. He tells him to go and rest but it makes no difference. His friends come and go with various food and drink. They stay and tell Bucky stories about the Avengers and how they have a friend from space. It takes Bucky a few hours to understand that, but he accepts it and spends a while asking Steve what else is worlds away from their youth. It turns out the answer is just about everything. 

Steve tells him stories about their past. Some of them seem familiar but others are alien to Bucky and he goes quiet during those. Sometimes it feels as though Steve is talking about a completely different person and that scares him. He wants to remember. 

Bucky loses himself sometimes, too. Especially when the doctors are around, he feels an instinctive fear kick in and he forgets if he’s allowed to answer their questions or if he’s supposed to shut up. Steve notices, though, and rubs gentle circles on the palm of his hand until Bucky notices. Steve was never there when bad things happened. He tells himself that. It isn’t like before when there was a heavy silence between them. Almost losing each other has changed something, and where Bucky was afraid to be under Steve’s scrutiny before, he relishes it now.

‘Do you remember how we met?’ Steve asks him a few days later. Bucky tries desperately to get to the memory but it feels like walking through water. He remembers being very young with Steve, giving him piggybacks to and from school. He shakes his head. 

‘It was the first day of school, we must’ve been 5 or 6. These boys in the year above us started shoving me, calling me words I hadn’t even heard before. You come over, and pick me up off the floor, then turned straight around and started throwing stones at these boys, small ones at first but they got bigger and bigger until they left me alone. You didn’t let me out of my sight all day after that.’ 

Bucky listens contentedly. It sounds right, even if he doesn’t remember. He remembers bailing Steve out of more scrapes than he can count, each time a sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw yet another of Steve’s shirts  stained with blood. 

‘You never did learn to keep yourself safe.’ Bucky says, holding Steve’s eyes. They’re as blue as he remembers and still just as bright. He laughs and it shakes Bucky’s heart. He thinks about Austria, about wanting to kiss him. He considers asking Steve about that night but his mouth goes dry. Steve’s friends have already told him that it’s legal now, but there’s a shame deep inside him mixed with a fear of losing the one thing he has. 

They talk more than Bucky has talked to anyone for eighty years. The doctors slowly decrease the pain medication he’s on and his muscles begin to ache again, but it is tolerable. He practices using the new arm and Tony visits often, showing Bucky things he’s designed and robots he’s created. It is fascinating and the time passes quickly, something which feels like excitement bubbling up inside him when they talk about space travel while Steve pretends to listen in the chair beside them. The bad moments pass, though they leave behind a shaking anxiety which makes his muscles hurt.

After the sixth day, Bruce tells him he’s ready to leave and Bucky almost cries again. He’s already asked Steve if he can stay in the tower with him, but it seems sudden and slightly terrifying. The first time he tries to walk, Steve and Sam have to prop him up on either side, but they get him to the elevator and then to the apartment without complaining. The place is surreal; Bucky has never seen anywhere so lavishly decorated and he certainly can’t picture Steve living here. 

‘What do you think?’ Steve asks once Sam has left. Bucky sits on the couch but he can’t relax. Everything is too soft. 

‘It’s a bit different to what I’m used to.’ He says, trying to smile. 

‘Me too.’ Steve smiles and sits beside him. Their thighs touch and Bucky  tries not to frown at his heart jumping. He remembers the feeling. He remembers it always needs to be hidden. 

****

Steve doesn’t know how to act around Bucky any more than he did the first time they sat in his apartment together a few weeks ago, but it feels slightly more comfortable this time. Something about the experience has changed Bucky; Steve notices memories appearing thicker and faster and he seems stronger than before, surer of himself. He had expected the opposite to happen, but Steve can hardly complain about Bucky seeming more like himself. 

They sit quietly until Steve can’t stand it anymore; 

‘You want to shower?’ He asks Bucky. He recognises the smell of hospitals and antiseptic and blood and it’s making him feel sick. Bucky nods and Steve shows him to the spare bedroom, purposefully ignoring the box on the bed, but Bucky is drawn to it. 

‘My stuff.’ He says into the collection of possessions, moving the bag to one side and frowning. ‘They took  my cigarettes.’ 

Steve pictures the packet on the floor of that apartment, the receipt neatly folded next to it. He had forgotten all about it, but now something lifts in his heart. A piece of the past working its way into Bucky’s life now; it seems almost poetic.

‘You smoke?’ Steve tries, knowing that Bucky saw his own packet when he stayed. 

‘I used to.’ Bucky says and he smiles as he says the words, knowing that Steve remembers. He sounds more like himself than ever before, ‘you know those things kill you now, Stevie.’ 

Steve freezes and he is so grateful that Bucky has his back to him; he feels his face fall in surprise. If he shut his eyes, he could imagine that things were normal again. Bucky’s voice is so familiar, less pained and awkward than ever before. And that nickname. He tries to slow his pulse down as Bucky turns to look at him, a grin on his face creasing his eyes. 

‘I know,’ Steve returns the smile and meets his best friend’s eye, ‘shame they never told us that before.’ 

Bucky laughs a little at the floor and excuses himself to the bathroom. Steve forces himself not to wait outside for him. His heart feels whole for once and the loneliness which has been hanging over him ever since he got out of the ice is nowhere to be seen. Natasha’s words play in his mind;  _ he’ll need to be loved _ .  _ Ask him.  _ He decides he will. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've been waiting for! As always, thank you so much for supporting this!!

Bucky spends a long time letting the water hit his skin. It is strangely comforting and he methodically cleans himself once, twice and then a third time for good measure. The bathroom is bigger than his whole apartment had been in Brooklyn and the shower has a stupid amount of settings. By the time he’s out and dressed in the plainest clothes he can find in the dresser, Steve has his head on one of the cushions. His eyes are trying desperately not to close, but the cooking show on the TV is doing little to keep him awake. 

Bucky considers leaving Steve to sleep; he is all too aware of how much rest and  self-care Steve  has given up for him in the last few weeks, but the thought of being alone sends a wave of anxiety through his body. It’s too late, anyway. Steve readjusts himself when he notices Bucky in the room and does his best to not look exhausted. They sit in silence for a while and pretend to watch the commercial breaks, though Bucky’s mind is elsewhere, reliving the events of the last week. He shudders involuntarily and flexes his new hand. It doesn’t make any noise anymore. 

Steve turns the TV off. He blinks hard, then turns to face Bucky, who chews the inside of his lip. Whatever Steve is about to say, it looks like it’s been on his mind for a while, and that worries him. 

‘I need to know how you’re doing, like, really,’ Steve says, playing with a thread on one of the cushions. The lines on his forehead are starting to show. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say or what Steve wants him to say, so he stays silent. There are feelings which come and go and others which linger constantly like a brewing storm and he doesn’t know which ones to trust. 

‘I want to know how to help and I can’t do that if I don’t know how you feel.’ Steve carries on, shooting bright blue glances at Bucky. ‘The doctors will ask, too. They want to help you feel alright again.’ 

Bucky tries desperately to come up with the words to describe how the world sometimes feels like it’s caving in on him, like his own mind is twisting itself into a noose and the things he’s seen lurk in the corners of every room. He tries to say that Steve is the one thing that makes the dark bearable, that he feels lighter around him, like there’s a string from his own heart to Steve’s that sometimes takes his breath away when Steve talks. He thinks about telling Steve that the memories of their life before the war are gorgeous and golden despite the hunger and the cold; that he thinks maybe Steve has been the only person he’s ever loved. 

‘I’m tired.’ He says, settling for a truth that seems far easier to stomach. Steve’s eyes dim a little and the disappointment on his face makes Bucky’s heart sink. 

‘Me too.’ Steve sighs and he moves slowly, about to go to his own bedroom, when he turns and looks at Bucky again, ‘you okay in there?’ 

He jerks his head towards what Bucky supposes is now ‘his’ room. He nods, forcing his lips into a smile even though he can feel a stinging behind his eyes. He wants to shake his head and put his hand in Steve’s in lie next to him like they used to, like he remembers. 

Steve smiles, yawns, and leaves the room. Bucky is grateful for the drugs still in his system when he gets into bed, the covers feeling impossibly soft. They pull him into sleep quickly and gently and for once, there is no pain in his body. 

****

Bucky awakes on high alert, the plush covers seeming to trap him maliciously as he tries to sit up. He wasn’t dreaming, which is rare, but there’s an odd feeling of being watched that he can’t shake. It’s only when he rubs his eyes and focuses on the room that he realises Steve is stood in the doorway, his hands clasped together like a child. Bucky lets his shoulders fall and rests his head back, sleep still wearing off his mind. 

‘Sorry,’ Steve says from the doorway. He looks less tired and the bruise around his shirt collar is a dappled green. ‘I didn’t know whether to wake you, breakfast is here.’ 

And Steve isn’t lying. The kitchen is laden with food, more food than Bucky has ever seen in once place. His stomach growls in approval, but it feels like a trap. Steve is sat at the table, already eating, one hand pouring coffee into a mug. Bucky stays standing. He feels a little lost and though he’s starving, something which feels a little like fear roots him to the spot. 

‘You can eat, Buck,’ Steve says after swallowing. His eyes are big and sad and they melt Bucky’s fear enough for him to sit down. 

He eats everything he can before his stomach starts to protest. Everything has so much flavour and it doesn’t take long before he starts feeling sick. Even living in New York for months Bucky couldn’t afford anything nice. He liked how much food was on offer now; how you could eat things from India and Thailand in adjacent buildings if you had the money. His body feels instantly better, though there are still parts that are sporting deep purple marks and scream in pain when something touches them. 

For a while, Bucky considers telling Steve about what HYDRA are looking for. No one has mentioned them around him since they got him out; he doesn’t know how many of them lived or what they found in the building. Bucky doesn’t imagine they’ll stop looking for their army, though, and it feels important to get to it first. Steve looks content though. His face is finally relaxed and he keeps looking up at Bucky and smiling with such genuine happiness that Bucky isn’t sure he can ruin it.

‘JARVIS, what time are we meant to be upstairs today?’ Steve says as he takes several plates over to the sink after they’ve both finished. 

Bucky frowns. He tries to remember if that was a nickname he ever went by, but before he can a voice erupts from nowhere. 

‘Twelve o’clock, Captain Rogers, though Ms Potts would also like to see you both, if possible.’ 

Bucky stands up sharply, his head snapping to look at Steve. The voice seems like it could either be inside his own head or coming from the walls. And voices inside walls are never good; Bucky knows that. Steve doesn’t seem as worried as he should be, though, 

‘ Oh you haven’t met yet,’ He says, laughing a little. He leans against the kitchen counter, ‘JARVIS, say hello,’ 

‘Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.’ The voice says again. It is male and British and a little terrifying, though Bucky tries to focus on the fact that Steve clearly trusts it. 

‘JARVIS is one of Tony’s creations, artificial intelligence, sort of like a robot but he doesn’t have a body.’ Steve speaks like he’s explaining the simplest thing in the world. Bucky feels his own eyes grow wide and he nods. 

‘Tell Pepper she’s welcome to come here when she likes,’ Steve says, moving more plates to the sink and stepping around Bucky as though he might explode at any minute. He feels lost again and a rising panic starts in his chest.

‘Steve?’ He says, but his voice is weaker than he thought it would be. Steve stops in his tracks. ‘Do you mind if we just sit and talk for a while?’

Steve practically drops the tray of bacon he’s holding. They sit on the couch and Bucky moves a little closer, just so that their legs touch. Steve stretches an arm behind them and Bucky imagines it around his shoulders, the warmth of his body drifting through the layers of cotton. The panic stops rising. 

****

It is a strange day. Steve and Bucky go to the medical floor of the tower right on time. Steve sits with them as they take blood tests and listen to Bucky’s heart. One of the new specialists introduces himself as a psychiatrist and Steve’s blood runs a little cold at the look of panic on Bucky’s face. No difficult questions are asked today, though and he’s grateful for that. Bucky follows him to his own fitness tests and the results are much better this time. 

By the time they get back to Steve’s floor, Pepper is waiting for them. The place is spotless again and Steve can’t help but wonder how many staff actually work at the tower. Tony is still sleeping off the last couple of weeks, she informs them, but he’s fine and has already thought of about a million improvements for Bucky’s arm. Bucky smiles to himself at that. 

Pepper spends a long time explaining exactly how angry the CIA are that the Avengers are currently housing the man who’s been on their highly dangerous list since the sixties. Bucky’s face drops as she tells them that they’re going to need a pretty good work around to stop a trial and about thirteen separate life sentences. Steve instinctively reaches for Bucky’s hand and squeezes. The shape of his knuckles feels so familiar.

‘Obviously we’re keeping them at bay for the minute, but if the public get hold of this...’ Pepper bites her lip and Bucky won’t meet her eye. His face is clouded, jaw clenched. 

She leaves not long after with Steve apologising for once again landing her in the middle of a PR nightmare. It’s going to require a lot of coaxing to stop a trial, but Steve is assured that they’ll try everything they can. He’s glad; the thought of Bucky taking the stand sends an electric bolt of panic down his spine. 

‘I didn’t mean to kill anyone.’ Bucky says once the door to the apartment is shut. His voice is shaky and when Steve turns around, he’s bent over his knees on the couch, his head in his hands. His eyes are glassy. 

‘I know.’ Steve says. He wants desperately to put his arms around Bucky and hold him until everything is less terrifying, whether that’s four hours or four years. 

Bucky nods. They sit together for a while and watch the sun sinking ever closer to the horizon. Steve misses the outdoors already, though he doesn’t say that; he knows it’s for the best to stay in the tower, but that doesn’t stop him missing the outside world. He reads a few of Pepper’s proposals, most of which involve an obscene amount of money and a fair few press conferences. A headache creeps in just thinking about it. Bucky tucks himself into the corner of the couch, the notebook clutched against his chest. The edge of the photo is still sticking out.

‘Tell me something you remember.’ Steve breaks the silence. He’s never been very good at being bored.

‘About what?’ Bucky frowns,

‘Anything.’ 

There is a moment of silence and Steve can hear Bucky swallow. He wishes, absentmindedly, that he’d sat closer to Bucky now. The gap between them seems enormous. 

‘I remember we used to pretend to go shopping on the weekends, when we had the place together.’ Bucky starts, pausing occasionally as though waiting for someone to feed him more of the story. ‘We’d go to that music shop near the station and act like we had all the money in the world, go through the vinyl and piss off the guy who owned it.’ 

Steve’s breath is short; it seems to get like that whenever Bucky talks about their past. He watches his eyes light up a little and loves the way a laugh seems only a moment away. Steve remembers everything, of course, but a lot of it is untouched until Bucky  reminisces , painting the images in fresh nostalgia. 

‘Mr Benson. That was his name.’ Steve can’t help but smile, ‘he used to kick us out all the time.’ 

‘He was the worst.’ Bucky shakes his head but he’s laughing, tipping his head back a little. 

‘You remember that radio we had? I found it in the trash and you fixed it,’ Steve is sure there’s one of the exact same model on a shelf in this apartment. 

‘Yeah. I fixed that thing more times than we even turned it on,’ 

Steve stands up, a sudden surge of excitement in him. He silently thanks Tony for the gramophone he installed in the sideboard. Steve used to think it was ridiculous, but as he opens the cupboard and slides one of the  vinyls out of the sleeve he can’t help but smile to himself. 

‘I forgot you were rich now,’ Bucky says from behind him, his eyebrows raised. Steve drops the needle and turns back,

‘These things are vintage now, probably worth more than they used to be.’ A crackle of static whispers from the sideboard,

‘So are we.’ Bucky laughs and the music plays. 

It’s an old jazz number from the late 30s. The sound is scratchy and wobbles slightly but it doesn’t matter. Steve knows every word from too many days lying in bed listening to that fuzzy radio, waiting for Bucky to come home and make him forget about the pain in his chest for a while. Now, Bucky’s face cracks into a smile, deep and genuine, as Steve stands in the middle of the room, doing his best not to burst out laughing at his own awful singing. 

‘Please make it stop!’ Bucky throws his head back against the sofa, laughing properly for the first time in almost a century. His nose scrunches up slightly and Steve stops singing not because he asked him to, but because his heart is beating so  violently he can hear it louder than the music. 

‘You haven’t gotten any better at that.’ Bucky shakes his head and Steve sits down, taken aback by how light he feels, like everything, just for one moment, slotted into place. He watches Bucky recover and traces his laughter lines with his eyes. 

‘Steve, can I ask you something?’ Bucky says and Steve can’t help but notice a trace of worry in his eyes. He nods in response. The music still plays.

‘Do you remember that night before I fell?’ The room feels suddenly hot and Steve wishes he didn’t have to ask JARVIS to open the windows for him. ‘I mean, I know you remember everything. But that night in Austria...’

He trails off and Steve is grateful that he doesn’t hold his gaze. There’s no hiding anymore. Bucky fiddles with his notebook, tearing slithers of the cover and tying them in knots. 

‘Yeah. I remember.’ Steve is surprised he can talk at all. He takes a deep breath; this is it, all or nothing. ‘Look, Buck, I don’t want to say anything that is going to change the way you think of me. But it isn’t fair not to tell you, so, no more secrets,’ 

Bucky’s eyes shoot up, his brow furrowed in confusion. Steve’s heart sinks, he opens his mouth to continue but it’s Bucky that speaks first,

‘No.’ He says, shaking his head slowly. His voice gets louder as he speaks, ‘No, I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want you to lie to me.’ 

‘Bucky wait,’ Steve’s mind is working at a mile a minute, ‘I’m not lying. I love you.’

‘No.’ Bucky stands up, backing away until he is  leaning against the glass of the window. The gramophone grinds to a stop. 

‘I love you and I think I’ve always loved you even when that wasn’t something I was allowed to say. I’m not lying, Buck please!’ Steve follows, stopping a metre away from him. Fear and adrenalin churn his stomach. A moment passes, their eyes locked together. Steve feels the words in the air and wishes they had taken some of the weight off of his chest.

‘You love me?’ The sentence is stilted. Bucky runs his metal hand through his hair and sniffs. His eyes are huge. 

‘Yeah.’ Steve sighs. This is what admitting it feels like. ‘Yeah I do.’ 

‘Steve, I think I’ve always loved you.’ Bucky looks like he’s about to cry. Steve can’t breathe, something is holding his lungs and squeezing them tight. ‘I don’t remember everything, but I remember you. I remember us. I remember nothing else feeling as good as being with you, and that I could never tell you that. I remember trying to tell you whenever I had a drink and I remember that night in Austria. I remember wishing you’d...’

He trails off, tears quietly drawing rivers down his face and disappearing into the dark stubble. Steve’s heart has either stopped or jumped into his mouth; he can’t tell. He takes a step towards Bucky, links their hands together. He expects the metal to be cool but it’s slightly warm and the grip is gentle. 

‘You don’t have to say that if you don’t think it’s true.’ Steve whispers, though his mouth is dry. He meets Bucky’s eyes and a relief floods every muscle in his body. He thinks about every night they had spent  lying next to each other, wishing for these words to make their way out of their heads. 

‘I love you, Stevie.’ Bucky traces a circle on his palm with his thumb, ‘it’s the one thing I do know.’ 

Steve pulls Bucky into him then, unable to not feel the warmth of his body against his own any longer. It is a comfort that Steve can find nowhere else. Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and his own body shakes with tears. Steve runs a hand through Bucky’s hair, the other pressed on his lower back. He watches over Bucky’s shoulder as the sun disappears behind the rest of New York and the sky is streaked with pink ribbons. Steve closes his eyes and lets his own relieved tears fall. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you to everyone/anyone reading and enjoying this! Only 3 chapters left now x

In the days following, Bucky finds himself in a routine and it is an enormous comfort to have things become familiar again. He is still suspicious of JARVIS, though Steve now lets him order the food. He’s hungry a lot and tired a lot and though sometimes he feels like a child, he’s mostly just grateful for the feeling of contentment in his body. He sleeps in Steve’s room, though the bed in there is still too comfortable and wide. Bucky spends the nights curled into a ball, his back against Steve’s chest and, when the dark feels too thick, he listens to Steve’s breathing and manages to stop his hand trembling himself. 

Steve leaves him alone sometimes and he doesn’t mind too much. A few times a noise from somewhere in the building sounds a little too much like a bullet hitting bone or someone screaming and Steve will return to find Bucky on the floor, his head in between his knees and his breathing short. He hates the way Steve looks in those moments and Bucky wishes sometimes he could just swallow the terror and give Steve the happy ending he deserves. 

Sam comes round on occasion and Bucky watches him beat Steve at video games, trying not to laugh at Steve’s attempts. It’s a good job he has better coordination in real life. Bucky likes Sam. He is funny and doesn’t ask any questions and sometimes he’ll tell Bucky embarrassing things about Steve while he’s in the bathroom. 

‘Did he used to sing in the shower?’ Sam asks once and Bucky smiles, 

‘He hasn’t gotten any better.’ He replies, 

‘Some things a serum can’t fix, I guess,’ Sam laughs but he freezes, looking at Bucky like a deer in headlights, but he isn’t offended. 

‘At least you don’t have to live with him,’ Bucky smiles and it feels genuine. He definitely likes Sam and when Steve leaves to go on a run with him, Bucky tries extra hard not to give him any reason to cut it short. Steve deserves a friend like Sam, especially now. 

****

It’s after two in the morning when it starts. Bucky was sure he was awake, listening to Steve’s steady breaths and wondering how long it would be before he had to face the public, but now he’s not so sure. There’s noise like gunfire but Steve doesn’t stir and when Bucky reaches the doorway, the apartment is gone, replaced by a street blanketed by dust. The screaming is loud but there’s no one around. His legs carry him without his permission down the street and he realises, with a sick wave of panic, that there’s a gun in his hand. And Bucky knows exactly what is about to happen. He’s seen this before.

He tries desperately to turn around, to crawl back into bed with Steve and find something to ground him like the doctors said to do, but he doesn’t stop. The man he’s looking for takes very little finding; he’s cowering in a side street, his suit grey with dirt. He drops to his knees and Bucky feels his heart leap at the sight of the child behind him. The boy is ashen faced, his enormous blue eyes stuck to Bucky with fear. The man says something to him but he doesn’t hear it. He’s been told not to listen to them, to ignore the crying, but when the blonde boy drops to his knees a few paces behind his father, there’s a swelling in Bucky’s chest that stops him from putting a bullet straight through the man. 

The street shifts slightly and a cold layer of sweat coats Bucky as a voice shouts in his ear. And then he’s hauled out of there, too many pairs of hands holding him and too many voices shouting things which Bucky can’t quite grasp. He has failed. That’s the only phrase he picks up, and that is enough to make his heart beat faster and faster. The world turns black. The pain that follows is immeasurable and a deep, guttural scream erupts from his body before he has a chance to register the agony. That one word is repeated in English over and over;  _ failed _ . His first mission, and he’s failed. He prays silently for death to come and save him. 

Bucky wakes with a jolt and hears himself scream, the sound deafening in the dark. There are still hands on him and he’s sure there is pain somewhere. His heart feels as though it’s about to beat out of his chest and his lungs gasp for air which doesn’t seem available. It takes him a few minutes of struggling to realise the hands on his arms are Steve. His eyes are wide and watery in the dark. 

‘You’re safe,’ Steve breaths through the words, relief at the recognition clear on his face, ‘it’s just me and you.’ 

Bucky swallows and sits up, his body shaking from the exertion. His head is pounding and he tries to focus on breathing. The doctor who deals with his head tells him that if he can control his breathing, everything else will fall into place. Steve keeps an arm looped around his back and the warmth relaxes his shoulders a little. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Bucky says, his voice tiny and trembling. His throat feels raw and he wonders how long he was screaming for. He tries not to think about Steve trying to wake him up for fear of the sick guilt creeping in. 

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ Steve says and pulls him closer. Somehow, he still smells like Steve, even after all these years. 

It takes over an hour for Bucky’s heart to stop pounding. He splashes cold water on his face in the bathroom and is about to return to Steve’s arms when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Anxiety hurtles down his spine and settles as a thick nausea in his stomach. Ever since Washington, Bucky has tried his best to avoid mirrors. He doesn’t see himself, or at least, he doesn’t see Bucky. His hair is too long and his face is too gaunt and the rings around his eyes stop them from looking blue anymore. He is grey and pale, like a ghost. 

‘Steve?’ Bucky calls from the bathroom doorway. There’s a sudden panicky urge in him to get rid of that reflection. Steve sits up, though it’s clear he was half asleep again. ‘Can you cut my hair?’

‘What?’ Steve is already out of the bed, 

‘Please?’ Bucky tries to stop his hand trembling. He’s already looked in the bathroom cupboard for a pair of scissors, but he’s sure Steve has been told to hide all the weapons in the apartment since Bucky arrived. Steve turns on the bathroom light and his own hair falls slightly to one side. 

‘I’m not sure how good it’ll look,’ 

‘Please.’ Bucky says again, but he’s looking back at the mirror instead of Steve. He knows he’ll never be who he was before the war – that man is long gone – but he doesn’t have to be the Winter Soldier, either. Steve nods and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. 

He disappears into the kitchen and Bucky takes his sweat-soaked t-shirt off. At least a dozen scars tattoo his upper body, but the place where his new arm meets flesh is no longer a disturbing raw colour. His ribs are beginning to disappear back under his skin and his shoulders are filling out again. Steve’s cheeks flush pink under the stubble when he returns. It’s the first time Bucky has been anything close to naked with him, but he doesn’t feel self-conscious. Steve’s eyes linger on the scars on his back. 

‘You sure about this?’ He asks, meeting Bucky’s eyes in the mirror. Bucky nods. 

Steve doesn’t do a bad job. It’s hardly stylised, but it’s short around the sides and a little longer on top and with every sound of the scissors closing Bucky feels a little more at ease. He showers once they’re done while Steve makes a very early breakfast, and when he looks in the mirror after pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt, he smiles to himself. The dread that the nightmare has left quietens down.

Steve almost drops the mug he’s holding when Bucky walks into the kitchen. There’s already a faint smell of burning; it’s fairly obvious he doesn’t cook all that often. 

‘Hey,’ He says, a huge smile on his face. The lack of sleep doesn’t show on his face and Bucky is glad; he doesn’t need reminding of the burden he’s placing on Steve’s shoulders. ‘You look...good.’ 

Colour creeps into Steve’s face. Bucky smiles and holds his right hand in his left to stop it shaking. There’s a whisper of a scream still in his ears and he wishes it would go away, just long enough so he can look at Steve and feel his heart full and warm in his chest. Steve puts the mug safely down before closing the gap between them, putting one hand on each shoulder. Bucky can’t help but hold his breath and his eyes are drawn to Steve’s mouth. 

Steve kisses him gently, so gently it feels like there could never be any pain in the world again. It is short and loving and when they draw apart, Bucky can taste Steve’s coffee on his lips. A happiness stirs in him, as though a piece of him is finally in its right place. They smile at each other and Steve runs a hand through Bucky’s hair, admiring his handiwork with his laughter lines still on show. 

‘You cooking breakfast?’ Bucky whispers into the space between their lips. He’s sure there’s something seriously charred now, if not on fire, but he doesn’t ever want to look away from Steve’s eyes. Steve sniffs in the air and widens his eyes in panic. 

‘Shit.’ He kisses Bucky once on the forehead before turning to the oven and pulling out a tray of what used to be bacon. It is sooty and brittle. Bucky grins and leans once hip against the counter. He reaches for Steve’s mug, desperate to taste him once again. 

‘I don’t cook much,’ Steve sighs, 

‘JARVIS?’ Bucky asks, a tired grin creeping over his face at the sight of Steve’s attempt, 

‘Already ordered it, sir.’ 

Steve laughs a little to himself and joins Bucky again, letting his hands fall onto his waist now. They kiss until the food arrives and Bucky’s hand stops shaking. If ever there were a cure for a panic attack, he thinks, this is it. 

****

The next morning, Steve leaves Bucky to go running with Sam. It’s something he’s started doing tentatively now and then, though he’s asked JARVIS to text him if Bucky needs him. He’s grateful for the fresh air and the company, even if it is usually raining. 

‘How long before they make a decision then?’ Sam asks during a brief period of walking. Central Park is quiet this morning, but then again it usually is before nine. 

‘Who knows,’ Steve shrugs. The inner workings of the government were not his strong point, but Pepper had told him to expect an answer by the end of the week. It was a big ask to get all the charges against Bucky dropped on the grounds of mental disorder, but they’d offered a fair sum of money to account for the damages and Steve had hastily agreed to convince Bucky to help out the Avengers once in a while. 

‘And you seriously think he’ll be fit for combat? Or that he’ll want to be?’ Sam’s eyebrows are raised and Steve sighs, 

‘I haven’t asked him.’ There’s been too much else to say, he thinks. Too many I-love-you ‘s to make up for the times they couldn’t say it. 

‘Steve,’ Sam stops, ‘you can’t keep things from him, not now.’ 

‘I know.’ And Steve does, he knows it every time he looks at Bucky. There can’t be secrets there anymore. He knows he can’t hide from Sam either, and he doesn’t want to. ‘I need to tell you something.’ 

‘I know.’ Sam says quickly, a smirk on his face as he starts walking again, 

‘What?’

‘I know that you’re in love with him.’ He says nonchalantly and Steve has to jog a little to be level with him. He has the urge to shush Sam; it feels strange to hear it in public and he has to remind himself this isn’t the 1930s anymore.

‘Did Natasha tell you?’ Steve swallows a hint of betrayal. The thought of them whispering about him and Bucky behind his back hurts more than he thought it would. 

‘No, I guessed, Steve. I asked her about it a few months ago and she said she thought you weren’t entirely straight ever since you and her kissed.’ 

Steve’s face flushes a deep shade of pink.  Of course Nat had told Sam about that, and of course Sam and her had been placing bets on his sexuality for months. It almost makes him laugh, but he’s starting to get a little concerned at how well everyone else seems to be able to read him. 

‘How did you know?’ Steve asks after a while, a distant smile on his face. How did everyone know before him? That’s the real question he wants answered.

‘You dropped your shield for him.’ 

****

Bucky is just about out of bed by the time Steve gets back. His body seems to be dragging him towards sleep constantly, though everyone has said that it’s normal. 

‘Hey,’ Steve pants as he walks through the door. Bucky looks up from the page he’s writing on; a memory of his sister had crept in while he slept and he’s desperate to write it down before it fades again. Or before someone takes it. 

‘Hey,’ Bucky’s throat is still raspy. He’d planned to tell Steve about HYDRA and their dormant army today, but the words die in his mind. Thoughts of Steve being gone for longer than a morning, or coming back through the door bloody and broken or not at all flood into his mind. 

‘ So you know this whole CIA thing?’ Steve rubs the back of his neck. There’s sweat everywhere and something shifts in Bucky as he listens to Steve’s breathless voice. It makes the hair on his neck stand up a little straighter. Bucky nods, slightly apprehensive as to where this is going. 

‘I agreed to something to try and help our case a little, and I should’ve asked you first.’ Steve’s expression is concerned. Bucky swallows;

‘What is it?’ 

‘I said you’d help us out. I told them you’d work with the Avengers, not all the time, just occasionally. You know a lot more about what to expect going into these places than any of us.’ Steve only meets Bucky’s eyes when he stops talking, but they’re steady. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.’ 

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment. The thought of a fight makes his stomach turn, but he knows Steve is right. If he could remember more and more over time, he’ll have a lot of useful intel on HYDRA. Maybe it could be okay and plus, he’d get to work alongside Steve again. 

‘It’s alright Steve,’ He says after a while. Bucky knows that his case isn’t an easy one to win; anything to let him stay here is worth a try. ‘I need to tell you something.’ 

‘Yeah?’ Steve sits beside him now and he smells like fresh air and sweat. 

Bucky breathes into his stomach like the doctor has told him to do when he starts to panic, and he tells Steve everything he can remember about those few weeks. He tells him, in rushed, heavy words about the army he trained and the soldier’s neck he snapped and the fact that he’s the only one who knows where it is. 

When he stops talking, his heart is rattling against his ribs. Steve’s been nodding, his eyebrows knitted together and his jaw clenched as though he’s trying not to hit something. Now, though, he leans across and pulls Bucky into him, so that his head is on Steve’s shoulder, his leg pressed against his hip. He kisses him once on the forehead and runs his fingers up and down Bucky’s arm. Bucky let’s his eyes close and his shoulders fall. Steve doesn’t say anything but Bucky knows it won’t be long before he leaves now. He tells himself that he deserves to be held like this, that he’s doing good for the world now, but it feels shallow and the words are empty. He wonders, not for the first time, if maybe they should lock him away somewhere where he can’t do any more damage. At least then Steve wouldn’t have to clean up any more of his messes. 

When Steve dislodges himself and goes for a shower, he thanks Bucky with such sincerity that it makes Bucky’s eyes well up. He turns back to the notebook in his lap but he’s forgotten what he was going to write. 


	13. Chapter 13

‘You sure about this?’ Steve asks Bucky in the elevator. He never expected Bucky to want to help, let alone tell the rest of the Avengers  first-hand what he knows. Ever since he told him two days ago, Steve has been swallowing a seething anger. Even the three hours he spent obliterating the punching bag in the nearest gym didn’t help wipe the images Bucky had painted out of his head. 

Bucky nods silently and Steve presses his tongue against his teeth to stop him saying it again. They meet everyone in a room purpose built for strategizing on a floor which Steve has never been to before. He takes one last look at Bucky before opening the door. It still catches him off guard how much like Bucky he actually looks now – every day Steve is sure he’s getting closer to the man he used to be and his heart swells with pride. 

Tony whistles almost immediately, raising his eyebrows first at Steve, who feels his face flush pink, then at Bucky, who stands like a lost child in the middle of the room. Clint nods in approval at Steve and Natasha looks at the floor. Steve feels suddenly exposed, like he’s just shown them his deepest secret. Maybe in some ways, he has. 

‘ Oh come on, why does everyone that works here have to be at least a seven? I swear I’m going to have to get Pepper to move out if any more of you decide to start wandering around here,’ Tony clicks a pen against the table they’re all sat at as he talks. Sam rolls his eyes but he shoots Steve a smirk. 

‘You think I’m a seven?’ Bruce says from opposite Tony, his voice dripping with fake excitement, ‘that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’ 

‘I think seven is harsh. I’d give you an eight. On a good day.’ Clint adds,

‘On a good day?’ Bruce says, ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’ 

‘That is cold.’ Sam pats Bruce on the shoulder, shaking his head at Clint, 

‘Brains over beauty, Banner.’ Tony drops the pen, 

‘Lucky for you then.’ Nat says, a grin on her face. Her legs are on the table, black boots making a squeaking noise on the glass every now and then,

‘I’ll have you know my brains actually paid for the table that you’re now getting footprints all over,’ Tony retaliates.

Steve stands beside Bucky, watching his friends do exactly what they always do when they’re forced into a room together. He rubs a hand against his stubble, embarrassed yet slightly proud at their reaction to his friend. He  _ is  _ attractive – Steve will happily be the first to admit that. 

‘Are they always like this?’ Bucky whispers to Steve, he’s got his arms folded across his chest but his eyes are warm and smiley. 

‘Always.’ Steve replies, laughing a little. He clears his throat and the noise dies down. 

‘Sorry.’ Banner says to Bucky, gesturing for him to say his piece. 

‘That’s okay.’ Bucky swallows, wringing his right hand in his left, ‘it’s nice, what you have,’ 

Bucky’s voice dies as he looks at them. Steve feels a twinge in his heart; he wants nothing more than this family of his to include Bucky. Seeing them all in one room together feels like a dream come true itself. 

‘You hear that Romanoff? Nice,’ Tony says quietly. Clint kicks him lightly under the table and he falls silently. 

It takes Bucky a moment and a breath which heaves his chest, but once he starts talking his voice grows steady and he holds their gaze as he repeats what he told Steve the other night. Steve’s hands unconsciously form fists and the sound of his own teeth griding against each other becomes louder and louder the more Bucky talks about Mitchell Carson and the electricity they pumped through his nerves and how there are another a thousand soldiers like him waiting to be given their orders. 

When Bucky stops, he looks to Steve. Clint lets out a long breath through his teeth, as though he’s been holding it for a while. The room silently grieves for a moment. Steve puts his hand in Bucky’s before he even realises what he’s doing. He doesn’t care, though and that boldness is powerful. This is his family and besides, it’s only a matter of time before they guess, if they already haven’t. 

‘ So we have to get there first,’ Steve breaks the silence. Sam nods, but his eyes are on Bucky. 

‘They’re people though, aren’t they?’ Natasha says quietly, her gaze far out of the window, lost in the city skyline, ‘they’re people just like you.’ 

She turns her head and nods at Bucky. He freezes beside Steve, his grip tightening around his hand. Steve momentarily wishes he’d held the real one. Nat is right, of course. That army are all real people who have had themselves removed from their bodies. 

‘That doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.’ Bucky’s voice is steady but Steve can feel the tremor in his arm. He knows what Bucky means by that. He knows he doesn’t believe he’s worth a second chance. 

‘If HYDRA get hold of them, we’re in deep shit.’ Tony stands up and jerks his head towards Bucky, ‘three of us couldn’t even beat one of them.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Sam begins, 

‘I clearly beat you, Wilson. Don’t be a bad loser.’ The room grows quiet and everyone’s eyes slide to Bucky. Steve holds back a snort; he’s sure a planning meeting to obliterate an entire army is not the place to laugh, but that’s the person he dragged them all halfway around the world to save, and my god is he glad he did. Sam narrows his eyes at Bucky, but it’s clear he’s just glad to have goaded a glimpse of humour out of him. 

‘I like you. You can stay.’ Clint says, nodding. ‘When do we leave?’

‘Tomorrow. But we need to work out where exactly they might be so we don’t tear apart the wrong base.’ Steve says, letting go of Bucky’s hand and walking forward, his palms  resting on the glass of the table. 

‘Let’s get to work then.’ Sam says with a little too much enthusiasm. 

They spend at least five hours in that room searching and planning. Bucky leads a lot of the work, though several times the frustration at his lack of memory is clear and Steve takes over for a while. It reminds him of those few months in the war together and he wonders if Bucky remembers leading those men alongside him. They work until they’re confident but starving and then disappear in separate directions, promising to be ready tomorrow morning. 

‘You don’t mind staying here on your own?’ Steve says later as they’re dividing up a tray of pasta big enough to feed a small apartment block. They’d agreed before anything that Bucky wouldn’t go with them for a number of reasons. 

‘You worry too much about me, Steve.’ He replies, but there’s something in his eyes which is sad and distant, 

‘If you need anything you know JARVIS is here. And Pepper is around.’ Steve watches Bucky eat, ‘And we’ll let you know as soon as we’re on our way back.’ 

‘I’m not a kid, Steve.’ Bucky puts the fork down with a little too much force and it makes a crashing noise against the metal table. He closes his eyes and Steve feels his stomach twist into a tight knot. He’s sure it’s an argument they’ve had before, only the other way round. Steve hated the way Bucky babied him sometimes, especially when he was sick. He didn’t want to admit that he lay in that wretched bed willing with every futile piece of his body for Bucky to come home and just be by his side again. 

‘I know.’ Steve says and Bucky blinks his eyes open to meet Steve’s. He looks scared, not angry. 

‘Just try not to get yourself killed.’ He manages to force a smile and Steve offers one back. 

****

Bucky can’t sleep. A fear permeates every one of his thoughts; a fear of losing Steve. He knows that it isn’t new. All his life he’s been afraid of losing Steve. It kept him awake, along with the awful, wracking coughing, all through the winters in Brooklyn. He’s never known what to do without Steve. When he left for England, he prayed selfishly that Steve wouldn’t manage to enlist. The thought of coming home to an empty apartment tied his heart in knots. It still does now. 

He knows it’s for the best he isn’t going to Romania. His body still feels as though it’s creaking back to life and, though Bucky is sure Tony Stark hasn’t held back on making the new arm combat efficient, he doesn’t know how it’ll feel to be back in the middle of the fight. Steve has always seen red and rushed in for revenge, and that blind passion is one of the things Bucky has always loved about him, but it is terrifying to sit by and watch. He tells himself over and over that Steve can handle himself but it doesn’t stop that fear. 

‘Stevie?’ He says into the darkness. The first time Bucky remembered calling him Stevie he cried for an hour. It felt like coming home. 

‘Yeah?’ Steve rolls over to face him. His body is warm with sleep and Bucky resists the urge to curl up in a ball against his chest. 

‘I can’t sleep.’ Bucky feels like a child again. He hates it, but the silence and the blackness of night threaten to stir in him sets of memories he’d rather not remember. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate to pull him close, so Bucky’s head rests on the space between his collarbone and his chest. The bruise is now a faint yellow, hardly visible in the low light. Bucky holds Steve with his left arm, rubbing the material of his t-shirt with his metal fingertips. As Steve breathes, Bucky’s head moves up and down. Steve runs his own hand through Bucky’s hair every now and then. Bucky tries to notice every single detail of the embrace, just in case he forgets when he’s alone tomorrow. 

‘You know how we always say ‘until the end of the line’? Like you said in Washington?’ Bucky asks after a while. The phrase is one he remembers, and has written down over and over again in scrawled pencil, but he’s never figured where  it comes from. 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Where does it come from? Why do we say it?’ Bucky thinks he should probably write down what Steve says, but there’s nothing in the world that could make him move. 

‘You said it to me first. It was the day of my mom’s funeral, and I’d left alone. You asked me to move in with you and I tried to turn you down, but you said I didn’t have to do it alone. That you were with me,  til the end of the line.’ Steve kisses his forehead and the stubble tickles a little. 

‘Oh.’ Bucky says with half a smile playing on his lips. 

They lie like that for a while and Bucky tries desperately to place the story to a memory, but nothing comes forward to claim the words. Sleep finds him as he tries to fit each  time he’s said those words into the right moments, like a strange jigsaw puzzle. 

****

Steve leaves early, despite Bucky’s effort to deny the reality of his exit with almost a hundred kisses which leave his lips pink and tingling. Bucky is sat in the middle of the vast bed, one hand holding the cover around his shoulders, when Steve picks up his shield and heads towards the door. 

‘Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.’ He says in the voice he puts on for those damn Captain America adverts that play on all the National TV networks. 

‘How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.’ Bucky half whispers when Steve is closing the door. The words escape him as though they’re an instinctive response, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s even spoken. The door doesn’t shut and Steve’s head appears back in between the panels of wood. His eyes are wide and sparkling and his cheeks are rounded into a toothy smile. Bucky smiles back, still trying to remember why on earth he just said that and then Steve is gone. 

Being alone jogs his memory. The last time he’d heard that exchange, it wasn’t Steve leaving, it was him. And in fact, most of the times he’d heard it, it was him going out the door, half warning and half begging Steve to just stay out of trouble for one day. Each time Bucky had walked away from Steve, he’d made that promise to come back – sure of the fact that they’d be together again before long. Those words had been that promise, a way of saying goodbye that didn’t feel so utterly heart-breaking. So far, he’d never been wrong: he’d always found his way back to Steve. 

‘Sergeant Barnes?’ It’s the walls talking again. Bucky frowns at them, as though JARVIS might actually be hiding in one of the air vents. 

‘Hello?’ His voice is thick with sleep. 

‘Would you like me to let you know when we receive word that they’ve arrived in Maramures?’ 

‘That would be great.’ Bucky says, letting himself fall back on the bed. ‘Thank you.’ 

He tries to let sleep take him back to some kind of tranquillity, where the thought of Steve, bloody and beaten on the face of a mountain the other side of the world, won’t be so intrusive. It doesn’t work. The light breaks in through the cracks around the curtains and even the silence feels too heavy to be peaceful. It’s going to be a long wait.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to miss writing this so much! Thank you thank you THANK YOU for reading this far in - I love these two with all my heart and it brings me so much joy to see people getting behind the way I write them.

By the fourth hour, Bucky knows he’s losing his grip. He hasn’t moved, though he’s watched his body try ad haul him from the safety of the sheets several times. The room is still swaddling him in darkness, the winter sun not putting up too much of a fight against the wall to ceiling drapes. Though the darkness was comforting it first, it feels threatening now, as though the black holes in his mind have come to life and swallowed him whole. The door is locked, he is sure of it. This is just another trick, another game to get him to do exactly what they say. His body feels as though it’s inside out; like every nerve is exposed and even the air is capable of stinging. 

The worst thing is, Bucky knows exactly what is happening. He feels the darkness seep into his head and he makes no attempt to fight it. There doesn’t seem much point; there’s nothing to push it out for. The grief is distant, too. It takes over his body but, though his heart beats faster and faster, he hardly feels the terror. It is as if he has never felt anything else, and that makes it comfortable in a way. He drifts through memories of missions and the training that always preceded them. Sometimes, he sees Steve in his place and he opens his mouth as if to scream but the image fades and it is him with his head held under the water, or being branded like a mule, or losing consciousness after another fist to the jaw. It’s okay when it’s him. Just not Steve.

There’s a noise outside the door and Bucky reaches instinctively for a weapon he doesn’t have. He waits, instinctively holding his breath, wondering how stupid he could’ve been to think that he was ever safe here. Knuckles rap on the door with less aggression than Bucky expects, but his voice is frozen in his chest. He stands up, backing towards the window, wishing that the glass wasn’t reinforced four times over. 

‘Hello?’ A voice says from the other side of the woodwork. It’s female and soft and Bucky recognises it, but he can’t place it, ‘James? Are you in there?’

He doesn’t like that name. It reminds him of people who have always stood above him. Always, men with a drive for power, saying his full name over and over until he wanted to scream. It was never gentle; never loving. 

‘It’s Dr Chalmers, one of your psychiatrists.’ Her voice is warm but not patronising and Bucky feels himself walking towards the door. ‘You didn’t come up at 12 like usual, I just thought I’d come and check on you.’

Bucky watches the handle fall and rise and the slither of light on the floor grows. His face is as grey as his eyes, though they are watery and wide. He stares at the woman. He knows her, and she doesn’t hurt him. She just talks and gets him to talk and sometimes he leaves her company feeling a little bit lighter. The darkness ebbs just enough for Bucky to breathe. The motion shakes his shoulders and the doctor smiles. 

‘You look like you could do with some company.’ She waits for Bucky to join her in the living room, perched in the armchair which Bucky generally believes belongs to Sam. 

Every step he takes into the afternoon light forces him into reality. By the time he sits down opposite the doctor, he feels almost like he could close his eyes without tasting blood. She asks him to talk but he can’t, or he doesn’t want to. They feel the same. He doesn’t want to give those feelings space; they might become real. Again. 

‘Have you heard the news?’ The doctor has been talking for a while but the words fade in and out. New York looks grey despite the sunshine. 

‘What news?’ It’s the first time Bucky speaks and the words come out more as a bark than a question. 

‘I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you...’ She has brown eyes and they seem to be too big for her face. Bucky’s stomach twists deeper into an anxious knot. ‘I expect Miss Potts will be round soon to explain, but they’ve agreed to drop the charges. You’re not a wanted man anymore, James.’ 

The words sink in slowly, then all at once. A wave of relief crashes down on Bucky’s shoulders. He feels the tears prickle behind his eyes and blinks them back, still on high alert. He can’t seem to lift his eyes off the floor and deep, rattling sighs escape him. Bucky tries to picture Steve’s reaction to this news; a huge, toothy smile and his solid arms wrapping Bucky in an embrace. He isn’t quite sure what it means. He knows he is free, and that means the outside world is no longer full of people waiting to put cuffs on his wrists. Everything seems suddenly overwhelming and Bucky realises he can’t remember having a choice before. The chance to do anything - to go anywhere and meet anyone – is foreign. 

The woman is talking again, her mouth smiling around each word. She’s saying something about doing whatever he wants and the words make him cringe. Bucky has no idea what he wants. Right now, he wants her to leave and Steve to come back and them both to find the nearest bar and drain it dry. He hasn’t had a drink since the war and only recently has he realised he used to drink a lot. He misses it; he wants it. That’s a start. 

‘I’ll leave you be.’ Dr Chalmers says after what feels like an  eternity. Some days Bucky doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing inside his mind, today is certainly one of them. ‘I expect you’ll have a training routine put into place soon enough, once you’re cleared from the medical team.’

‘Training?’ The word strikes fear into Bucky’s core. He lifts his head enough to look at her and tries to keep the fear out of his eyes. 

‘Well - yes. That was part of the agreement to be signed.’ She smiles sadly and breaks away from his stare, ‘You’re part of The Avengers now.’ 

The door clicks shut and Bucky can hear the doctor click her pen and scribble something on a piece of paper outside. He expects it’s another medication. They keep trying to ply him with drugs. They say it’ll slow his thoughts down and help stop the bad moments from being awful, but he doesn’t believe them. Nothing can stop what’s happened to him from being awful. 

Bucky thinks of The Avengers and immediately feels small. He tucks his knees up under his chin and reaches for his notebook left on the coffee table. Slowly and methodically, he writes each of their names, and then their names when they’re out on missions. When he’s done, he goes to add his own name, but his  hand shakes too much and the pencil buckles under the strain. He feels insignificant compared to them, as though deep in his soul he knows he’ll never be good enough to have his name on that list. They can call him what they want, but he’s no hero, and he doesn’t think any of them would be if they’d seen what he has seen. 

****

The doctor is right, Pepper does come to the apartment that evening. She hands Bucky a credit card, a passport, a set of keys which look more like several more credit cards, a  cellphone and a packet of Lucky Strikes. He spends a while turning the possessions over and over in his hands while she tells him about the press still left to do, and then her phone rings and she’s gone again. 

JARVIS has already told him that his friends are fine, their mission successful and that they’re on their way back. It’s late and though Bucky wants desperately to avoid the horrors that sleep usually brings, the twinkling of the lights all over the city keep blurring in front of his eyes. He pictures Steve coming through the door, his hair floppy and golden with day old sweat. He pictures the looks on his face as he wrinkles his nose and smells the cigarette smoke from the lucky in between Bucky’s fingers. He pictures his smile, so warm and full and loving. Bucky stubs the cigarette out in the empty pizza box beside him from dinner. The smoke tastes like nostalgia and as he breathes in, though his lungs ache a little, he feels like maybe this could be home. 

****

Steve is not entirely as fine as JARVIS had said. There’s a nasty cut on his forehead and a swelling in his jaw. He’s holding his side and there’s blood seeping through the blue of his uniform. It hadn’t hurt too much at the time, but the aftermath of a bullet to the side is always worse; he’s learnt that the hard way. Other than himself, though, they’d left Romania with not so much as a broken nail. It felt horrifyingly satisfying and Steve isn’t proud of the way he enjoyed the look of fear in the eyes of the HYDRA agents he’d laid waste to. It reminded him of Bucky’s fear and that made his punches harder.

He’s barely opened the door to the apartment when he hears Bucky stir like a deer in the woods. 

‘Steve!’ Bucky’s voice is louder than it ever has been and he’s up in seconds. Steve turns the light on and his heart sinks a little at the sight of him. Bucky’s eyes are vessels for the rings around them. His skin is pale, his cheeks threatening to disappear into his skull and even from across the room Steve can see that he’s shaking. He knew it would be a rough couple of days for Bucky, but he didn’t quite anticipate how torn apart he’d feel in the face of it. 

‘What the hell happened?’ Bucky moves Steve’s hand away from his side and his jaw sets as he sees the blood. ‘I told you to be careful.’ 

‘You told me not to die,’ Steve lets Bucky sit him down and tries not to laugh at how quickly they fall into their old pattern. Steve knows from the look on Bucky’s face that he remembers these moments, too. There’s a sad, almost longing, smile behind his eyes and his hands steady themselves as he tilts Steve’s head to one side. 

‘I’m definitely getting too old for this.’ Bucky mutters, though it’s clear he wants Steve to hear. 

The room smells faintly of cigarette smoke and Steve frowns a little, trying to catch Bucky’s eye but failing. He knows Pepper told him about the charges being dropped, but he really doubted Bucky would go out into Manhattan alone. Maybe he stole a packet from somewhere in the tower. 

‘Where do you keep your first aid kit?’ Bucky stops fussing just long enough to meet Steve’s eyes and it sends a flurry of warmth to Steve’s heart. He missed him unquestionably. 

‘Kitchen. Under the sink.’ 

Bucky wipes and cleans the cut on his forehead. His face is so close to Steve’s and he studies the lines on Bucky’s forehead before leaning in a little and kissing him a little too hard. Bucky is tense at first and he keeps his hands where they are, but he kisses back, softly and slowly. There’s some colour in his cheeks when they part. Steve has never felt like this place was home before, but as Bucky carefully peels off the top half of his suit and tuts at the remnants of the already healing wound, he feels the most at peace he’s ever been. 

****

Bucky remembers more than one night like this, though he’s sure they never ended with Steve’s head on his chest before. He remembers half shouting at Steve as he wiped blood off his face and arms, though being more upset than angry. He remembers swaddling Steve’s fist in  second hand bandages and begging him to just  run away next time. 

‘How does it feel to be a free man then?’ Steve interjects his thoughts. The sun is almost rising again and Bucky’s head feels just about ready to fall into sleep. 

‘I don’t know.’ He says, honestly. ‘I don’t know what I want to do. I’ve never had a choice before.’ 

‘Well, how about dinner?’ Steve sits up. He’s remarkably spritely for someone who just got back from a 22 hour round trip to Romania. 

‘We always have dinner, how is that any different?’ 

‘I mean, dinner out somewhere. We were all going to go somewhere tonight, team-building sort of thing.’ Steve looks sheepish. He runs a hand through his hair and lets it fall across his forehead. 

Bucky thinks that maybe he does want that. He wants this family to be his, not just Steve’s. He wants to make fun of Sam and hear about Tony’s ideas and know exactly where Natasha buys her jackets from. It’s the first time he can hear thoughts like that – thoughts which sound organic, rather than manmade. 

‘That sounds nice.’ Bucky whispers, laying his head against Steve’s shoulder. His smile is completely genuine and, as he closes his eyes, the taste of tobacco in his mouth keeps the darkness from creeping in. 

Bucky sleeps for a long time in Steve’s arms and, for the first time in what feels like forever, he doesn’t dream. Because nothing can take him away from this, now. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done. I've never written anything this long before and I've had such a blast doing it. I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. This definitely won't be my last Steve/Bucky fic but for this one it is the end of the line. See what I did there?! Love you all. x

_ Epilogue  _

_ 3 Months Later _

‘Bucky?’ Steve rubs a towel against his hair as he prods the shape under the covers. ‘You  gotta get up, Nat’s waiting for you.’ 

There’s a groan from the collection of blankets on the bed and Steve can’t help but smile. He’s already been for a run, picked up breakfast and showered. Bucky, it would seem, still can’t get enough sleep. He’s often found by his friends swaddled in numerous layers taking a nap in all manner of places. Not that he was ever a morning person before. 

‘I already beat her.’ Bucky says, but he sits up, the cotton sheets pooling around his waist. 

Every morning, Steve’s breath is held hostage by his heart as he looks at the man in his bed. No one could ever deserve such a sight as Bucky fresh out of sleep, when his eyes are still a little watery and the ends of his hair drop down to kiss his forehead. He looks like an angel. Steve will never, ever, get over the way the skin stretches over Bucky’s muscles. It sends shivers down his spine. If he only got to look at Bucky, not touch him or talk to him or watch his head thrown back in laughter, that would be enough. 

‘She said it’s the best of 11.’ Steve grins. Bucky’s eyes widen a little when they see Steve is only wearing a towel. That usually gets him up. ‘Besides, it’s training. You’re paid to do it.’ 

Bucky doesn’t mind, he just wishes it could be in the afternoon. Ever since he became employed by The Avengers, Bucky has been training again. Natasha and him don’t hold back, and it’s fairly common for Steve to hear their swearing from ten floors above. Bucky doesn’t hate the combat. It feels natural; he’s always been physically astute, but he’s yet to accompany them on a mission. There’s still a veil of dread there, even now he knows he’s capable of defending himself. 

He drags himself out of bed and opens the double doors to the balcony off their bedroom. The apartment in Brooklyn wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it to feel home again. It’s at least four times the size of their last digs across the bridge, but they both feel at peace there. 

Steve studies the way Bucky’s back ripples and moves like waves as he stretches in the Spring air. The sun glints off his arm as though the Gods are touching him and Steve can’t help but stand behind him and slip his arms around his waist. 

‘Did you get breakfast?’ Bucky asks after a while. The sounds of the street drift up to them along with the smell of bacon. Food still feels like a commodity and he isn’t quite sure if that’s because of the war or the  cryo . 

‘How else was I going to bribe you out of bed?’ Steve’s breath on the back of Bucky’s neck makes his shoulders sink a little further. Sometimes Bucky can’t believe how perfectly he fits in the space between Steve’s arms. The second he’s away from Steve, he craves this again. It’s a comfort he’s never learnt to articulate, and one day he’ll get the courage to let Steve go further. He thinks that’s something he wants, especially when Steve whispers like that, but until he’s sure it’s a risk neither of them  is willing to take.

The guilt is still constant, though Bucky works hard to keep it at bay. Steve tells him every day that he is enough and every now and then he believes it. The nightmares visit him less often and the memories more so, though sometimes that isn’t always a blessing. He still sees the psychiatrist Pepper first hired and they say he seems more stable and it certainly does feel that way most days. 

Of course there are bad days. Steve struggles through them, helplessly watching Bucky sink into a state of raw nerves. The world seems to end on those days. He knows not to touch him and gets through them safe in the knowledge that the weight of Bucky’s body will warm his arms again the next day or week or month. Sam comes round a lot and he knows better than Steve how to deal with the dark days. He coaxes words out of Bucky when his mouth feels glued shut and for that they’re both eternally grateful. Not that Bucky would ever admit it to Sam’s face.

Tony sends Bucky constant plans for upgrades to the prosthetic, and Bucky finds such joy listening to his caffeine-fuelled spiels about the prospects of time travel or the future of AI. Their friendship is strange and Steve doesn’t quite understand it, but then he never really understood Bucky’s affinity for Tony’s father either. He’s just glad that Bucky is part of the family. It’s more than he could ever have asked for. 

‘I’ll come with you, I said I’d meet Sam to go over the plan for next week.’ Steve says once Bucky is dressed and an hour late for his ass-kicking date with Natasha. 

Steve drives, Bucky watches the streets pass by the window and the radio plays music which neither of them really  listens to. The first time Bucky went out, when they were still living at the tower, he’d been convinced everyone was staring. It felt like a zoo, and when Steve had interlaced his fingers with his on the street, he felt sure someone was going to jump them. It’s gotten better since then; Bucky knows the streets of Brooklyn. He could never forget the alleys where he learnt how to kiss and fight and save Steve’s ass. He loves it here – it's a true, soulful love. For the city and for Steve. 

This is their life now, and for both men, it’s a welcome break. The rainy days where New York stays in bed sees them do the same, and they talk about everything and nothing as though their lives aren’t completely crazy. Steve never forgets that Bucky is fighting a battle constantly in his mind, and that makes the fight a little easier. He’s able to give Bucky love and patience and stories about times which remain shrouded in fog to him, and that’s enough. The same way having Bucky, the sarcastic, wildly unimpressed and forever cautious Bucky, back is enough for Steve.

A shared bed in Brooklyn, with each other, and the knowledge that no two men could ever be so madly, life-threateningly in love. That could never not be enough, for either of them. 


End file.
